


Fic Advent 2014

by riots



Series: Fic Advent [3]
Category: EXO (Band), GOT7, Haikyuu!!, Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball, Miss A, Nikita (TV 2010), f(x)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:26:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 44,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2699564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riots/pseuds/riots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assorted drabbles written through December. Each chapter is labelled with fandom and pairing or focus!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Haikyuu!!, Oikawa/Iwaizumi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for kitten ♥
> 
> prompt: 'oikawa being the trashbaby of iwa's dreams and he's mad abt it'

Hajime clenches his teeth, propping his elbows up on his knees and staring fixedly at a point on the wall. Oikawa’s not really that good at being punctual, and Hajime has had years of experience with that, but this is on a whole new level. He checks his phone for the thirtieth time. Over an hour. He has been sitting on Oikawa’s couch for over an hour. “This is ridiculous,” Hajime mutters, rubbing fiercely at the back of his neck, and then he straightens up. A man has limitations. “I’m leaving without you,” he shouts down the hall. 

Of course, magically, this is when Oikawa waltzes out of the bathroom. “I’m coming,” he chides, like he hasn’t just spent an exorbitant amount of time making sure his hair is perfectly coiffed for his fan girls. Hajime levels his best irritated glare at him, and Oikawa just basks in it. “Tch. So impatient, Iwa-chan~”

If it hadn’t been for the rare moment of sincerity when Oikawa had insisted that Hajime help him shop today, he would’ve been long gone. But years of experience have taught Hajime the difference between when Oikawa wants him around, and when he _wants_ him around, and so here he is. Oikawa is so very lucky that Hajime loves him. “If you weren’t vain as a peacock, we could have been out of here an hour ago,” he growls, standing to pull on his jacket.

He follows Oikawa out the door, and he nearly stumbles when Oikawa catches his arm and takes it captive. “Don’t be jealous, Iwa-chan.” Hajime allows Oikawa exactly a second to pet through his hair before he jerks away from his grip. “If only you put the tiniest bit of effort into your looks, maybe the girls would spare you a glance.” Hajime plants a hand in Oikawa’s face and shoves him away, taking a small moment of pleasure in Oikawa’s undignified squawk and ugly pout. “My hair!”

“You deserved it,” Hajime tells him, not even a little sorry. Oikawa rounds on him, pouting intensifying, but Hajime has had years to become immune to Oikawa’s ‘charms’. “Don’t we have somewhere to be?”

As they head out of Oikawa’s building, Oikawa has already lost interest in Hajime’s complaints, too busy fluttering his fingers in greeting at a pair of blushing high schoolers on the corner. “Of course,” he says breezily, carefully sweeping an errant hair back into place. “Mustn’t waste time.” He turns to look over his shoulder at Hajime, flapping an impatient hand. “Come along.”

Hajime’s answering glare is wasted on the back of Oikawa’s head, but he likes to think that Oikawa can still _feel_ it. “You are not nearly as important as you think you are,” he tells him.

The moment he catches up to Oikawa, his wrist is not his again, wrapped in Oikawa’s iron grip. Hajime frowns at him, shifting so that he can lace their fingers together instead. He’d like to have at least moderate blood flow into his fingers. “I’m exactly as important as I think I am,” Oikawa says, looking at him, and Hajime doesn’t have an answer for that.

 

 

 

Hajime still isn’t really sure what the point of this whole shopping expedition is, and every time he tries to get an answer about it, Oikawa is just artfully cagey. He’s already dragged Hajime through four different clothing stores, looking for _just_ the right cardigan, and Hajime had nearly clocked him when he’d spent twenty minutes trying on and taking off two sweaters in practically identical shades of green. In the end, he’d decided on neither, and Hajime had to suppress the urge to strangle him, since they were in public.

Now, they’re wandering through an open market as slowly as humanly possible. Hajime would rush Oikawa along, if he thought it’d work, but he’s fairly certain that Oikawa doesn’t actually have any plan for the day. Instead, he’s meandering around, one hand In Hajime’s as he charms the ladies working the stalls into giving him samples of everything. “Oooh,” he purrs, wiggling his shoulders. “Iwa-chan, you have to try this.”

Hajime looks pointedly at his phone. He could be at home, studying for next week’s test, but no, he’s here instead. Because apparently his presence is vital. “I’m not hungry,” he begins, but Oikawa has his pleasantly determined face on and that toothpick is coming at Hajime’s mouth whether he likes it or not. 

He opens up reluctantly and Oikawa feeds him a mouthful, gentle fingertips on his jaw. Hajime, despite himself, leans into the touch. “Good, right?” he says. He turns to the older woman running the stall, talking about recipes, and Hajime chews and savours the bite. He hates it when Oikawa is right, especially if he’s obnoxious in the process. “We should pick up something to eat tonight!”

Like Oikawa is going to cook. “I wasn’t aware we were having dinner together,” Hajime says, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand.

Oikawa pats his shoulder patronizingly. “Why wouldn’t we?” he asks, and Hajime knocks his hand away, retaliating with a slap to Oikawa’s gut. Hajime takes a moment to savour the ugly face that Oikawa makes, and the squeaky noise. “So mean, Iwa-chan!” He bids the lady goodbye, and they move on.

“I have work to do,” Hajime reminds him. He’s got that test coming up, and his birthday’s in two days. He’d rather not have to spend all day on schoolwork if he doesn’t have to. “Because you’ve wasted my whole day.”

“It’s not a waste,” Oikawa says, offended. “Don’t you like spending quality time with the love of your life?”

It startles a laugh out of Hajime. “You’ve got a pretty high estimation of yourself,” he tells Oikawa. It’s not a correction, though.

“Soulmate,” Oikawa says serenely, and Hajime trips him just to get the smug look off his face. Of course, graceful as he is, Oikawa doesn’t end up falling on his head, but it’s a near thing. He catches himself at the last minute, throwing a wounded look at Hajime. Hajime holds his hand out again, and lets Oikawa reel him in until he’s tucked under Oikawa’s arm. “You should be nicer to someone so important to you,” Oikawa says.

Hajime snorts. “If I were any nicer to you, your ego wouldn’t be able to fit through the door.” Oikawa makes this high pitched, outraged noise, and Hajime allows himself to smile for a moment, a bit fondly. Today may have been a waste of time, but it wasn’t that bad. Not really.

 

 

 

It’s late by the time they get back to Oikawa’s. Hajime yawns and tries not to think about the studying he needs to do. “I can’t believe you didn’t buy anything,” he grumbles, rubbing at his eyes. “All that for nothing.”

“Ah, but you don’t regret a thing, Iwa-chan~” Oikawa says it so matter-of-factly, patting Hajime’s chest. He fumbles through his pockets for his keys and his phone rings. “Ah, can you unlock for me?” He pushes his keys into Hajime’s face and turns away to take the call, and it’s sheer luck that Hajime catches them before they hit the ground. 

“You’re welcome,” Hajime calls over his shoulder. While Oikawa chatters away to someone about next week’s game, Hajime rolls his eyes and unlocks, leaving Oikawa behind at the door. He’s been here enough that he doesn’t feel uncomfortable toeing off his shoes and heading in without Oikawa. He’s got to use the bathroom, anyway.

He’s tossed the keys onto the table and taking a detour through the living room when all of the lights flick on at once and he’s surrounded by all his friends and teammates, shouting “SURPRISE!” He freezes, staring around at them, as Kindaichi approaches, holding out a cake.

“What is this?” he demands, a smile pulling at his lips, and long arms wrap around him from behind.

“You didn’t really think I’d forget your birthday, did you?” Oikawa says, hooking his chin on Hajime’s shoulder. “I’m offended you think so little of me.” He squeezes Hajime tight and rocks them back and forth, flapping a hand at everyone to start the round of ‘happy birthday’.

Hajime can feel a flush creeping up his cheeks. He can even see some of their old rivals hanging around, although he’s got no idea how Oikawa managed to talk Kageyama into attending. All of his wasted time today makes a lot more sense, now. Of course Oikawa would be the best choice to distract him while things were being prepared. “I hate surprises,” he says, though that’s not particularly true.

“No, you don’t,” Oikawa says, tipping his head to press his cheek against Hajime’s. Hajime can feel him smile. “Happy birthday, baby.”

Kindaichi holds the cake up for him to blow out the candles, and Hajime lets one hand fall to rest against Oikawa’s, thumb pressing against the bones of his wrist. Yeah. He smiles, and leans forward. Happy birthday.


	2. GOT7, JB/Jackson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for bunbun ♥
> 
> prompt: 'I want jackson getting all flustered because jb can't stop petting the fuzz on his newly shaven head. (i want cuddling)'

“Well,” Jackson says, staring into the mirror, “I guess it could be worse.”

The stylist gives him an indulgent smile and sweeps the last remnants of his hair off his shoulders, and he watches it all fall to the floor, a bit mournful. His beautiful, beautiful hair. He rubs a tentative hand across his head, and all he feels is fuzz. It’s not as bad as the Identity comeback, with the weird tuft in the middle and everything else shaved, but it’s certain not great. He sees his stylist watching him out of the corner of his eye and he puts on a grin for her, flashing a thumbs up. “Thanks, noona!” he says. She’s not fooled, of course, but she pats his head and sends him on his way.

It’s just hair, Jackson reminds himself. It’ll grow back. “Oooh, dramatic,” Jinyoung says as Jackson flops down next to him on the couch. He digs his knuckles into Jackson’s scalp. “You look so scary.”

Jackson bats his hands away. “I feel naked,” he complains, sliding down in his seat until his chin is pressed to his chest. “Ugh.” He likes his hair, when he has it. He’s lucky enough not to have damaged it like the rest of them have, with myriad rounds of dying and strange cuts, and it used to be thick and shiny and okay, maybe he’s just the _tiniest_ bit vain. He huffs out a breath, pushing out his bottom lip. Well, at least it’ll cut his styling time in half.

“Stop complaining,” Jinyoung chides. He’s dodged the bullet this time around, and his hair is still dark and a relatively normal cut. Lucky dog. “At least you’re not poor Bambam.” He waves a hand towards the other end of the room, where Bambam is sitting in the stylist’s chair, looking upset. The green streaks would be bad enough, but the centre part just makes the whole look. “He looks like a rancid skunk.” Bambam throws a rude gesture their way and in the seat next to him, Youngjae throws his head back and laughs.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jackson grumbles. He’s still sad, though. He wrestles the hood of his sweatshirt up and pulls it down over his nose. He doesn’t want anybody to see his pain.

“Be nice.” The couch shifts next to Jackson as Jaebum slides in next to him. Jackson peers up at him under the edge of his hood. Jaebum, of course, looks handsome as ever, just blonder, which Jackson is pretty sure is criminally unfair. He reaches up to prod at his face. If _he_ had cheekbones like that, maybe he’d be able to pull everything off too. “Leave the kids alone.”

Jinyoung scoffs, starting to protest about how he’s “ _always_ nice, how dare you?”, but Jackson’s already stopped listening. Instead, he’s trying to figure out how to strategically hide his hair. Snapbacks are his thing, right? He can even wear some fan gifts and make it a fan thing. Absolute genius. 

He yelps when Jaebum jabs sharp fingers into his side. “Hey, sit up,” he says, and Jackson begrudgingly straightens. He protests when Jaebum tugs his hood down, but his words die in his throat when Jaebum starts stroking his hand over the fuzz on his head. “I kind of like it,” he tells Jackson, fingers lingering on the back of Jackson’s neck. “It’s so soft. It feels nice.”

“I’m not a dog,” Jackson says, but he doesn’t dislodge Jaebum’s hand. There’s warmth bubbling up in his chest, and he pushes it down. “And I don’t think ‘soft and fuzzy’ is really what they’re going for with the whole military concept thing.”

Jaebum’s hand finally slides away. “I don’t know,” he says, and he smiles. “I think it works for you.”

It probably shouldn’t be enough to tip Jackson over to liking the cut, but it is. “Yeah?” he asks. He touches the short hair at his temple. “You think?” Next to him, Jinyoung snorts, climbing to his feet dramatically and wiggling his eyebrows. Jackson throws an empty water bottle at him and grins when he yelps so satisfyingly.

“Yeah,” Jaebum says, and he lets his hand rest on Jackson’s thigh for a moment, tapping his fingertips against the seam inside his leg. “Yeah, I do.”

When he heads off to talk to their manager about something, Jackson watches him go, and even though he can feel the dopey grin on his face, he doesn’t even care.

 

 

After their comeback showcase, they’re all wiped out on the trip back to the dorm. When Jackson glances into the back row, he catches sight of Mark asleep with Yugyeom’s head on his shoulder, Yugyeom’s mouth wide open. Jackson snorts noisily and in the front row, Jaebum’s shoulders shake with laughter.

Once everyone’s been herded home and is mostly showered and getting ready for bed, Jackson hikes his sweatpants up his hips and slides into Jaebum’s room. Youngjae is already asleep, sprawled gracelessly across his blankets, snoring, but as usual, Jaebum’s still tabbing through emails on his tablet. “Someday, you’re gonna have to learn how to relax, you know,” Jackson says, and he throws himself down on Jaebum’s mattress pad, worming his way underneath the covers.

“And someday, you’re going to have to learn how to sleep in your own bed,” Jaebum replies. There’s no heat to his words, and he shifts easily to accommodate Jackson’s body. Jackson’s always liked the way that they fit together. It’s not really perfect, but he makes himself comfortable with his head on Jaebum’s shoulder, his leg thrown over Jaebum’s thighs. “This is the third night this week.”

“Are you complaining?” Jackson asks. He thumps a hand against Jaebum’s belly, smiling in satisfaction when Jaebum groans and tries to curl in on himself. “I'm a gift, dude, you’re super lucky that I like you.”

“I’m truly blessed,” Jaebum says dryly. His free hand rubs idly across the top of Jackson’s head, and Jackson has to admit, it feels really nice and soothing. 

“You are,” Jackson agrees sleepily, eyes sliding shut. “And you like my hair, too.”

Jaebum laughs. “Yeah, I do,” he says. He’s practically petting Jackson’s head, and it’s so relaxing that all Jackson wants to do is curl up against Jaebum and fall asleep. He leans shamelessly into the touch, making pleased little noises. “You’re terrible,” Jaebum says, and he presses a kiss to the top of Jackson’s head.

“You love me,” Jackson says, smug, and even though Jaebum pinches his side, he decides that maybe, the haircut isn’t that bad.


	3. GOT7, JB/Jackson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for suxing ♥
> 
> prompt: assassins-for-hire au!

It’s taken Jackson months to set up this hit. He’s had Mark for back-up, as usual, but this one has been all him, from the very get-go. He’s the one who picked the location (a crowded charity ball, perfect cover for Jackson’s up-close style of elimination), his team, even what he’d wear. He’s been living and breathing this hit for _weeks_.

Which is why he’s so goddamn _angry_ that this guy is lying on the floor, bleeding out from a neat little sniper bullet wound in the centre of his forehead. “Tuan,” Jackson hisses, glaring down at the corpse, “explain this to me.”

“Wasn’t us,” Mark says immediately. “Came from too high up, and you know Yugyeom doesn’t make a move without your say so.”

Someone else is here. Someone has just literally sniped his target right out from underneath him and now he’s not going to get paid. “Find this guy.” Jackson pivots on his heel, loosening that stupid tie and pulling it off, abandoning it as he blends in with the crowd. “He just stole my paycheque.”

“I’ve got eyes on him.” Yugyeom sounds out of breath, he must be on the move. “Sending images now.” Jackson digs out his phone to find a series of blurry shots of the guy who’s ruined his night. Jackson doesn’t recognize him but he’s handsome, sharp cheekbones and a long straight nose, and he’s dressed as a waiter. Nice. Jackson’s going to kill him. “He’s headed out the north exit.”

“Moving for intercept,” Jackson says, and he cuts through the rush of panicked people, heading towards the door. He can’t believe that this is happening. Months of preparation, wasted, because some guy with a sniper rifle stepped in on his territory. This is some serious bullshit.

He sees him as he’s walking out the door. Jackson’s mystery assassin turns back for just a moment, makes eye contact. Arrogant. Jackson clenches his hands at his sides. He could make a run for him, but there’s no way that he’ll get across four lanes of traffic, not when all this chaos is going on right now. It’s infuriating, seeing him so close, and just out of reach. 

The man nods, once, and then he’s gone. Jackson groans, popping the top few buttons on his shirt and staring at the spot where he’d been. Great. _Now_ what is he gonna do? “Pick up in thirty seconds,” Mark says. Jackson takes the thirty seconds to seethe and throw a tiny fit. He’d planned on taking a whole tropical vacation thing on the proceeds of this hit. Now he’s going to have to spend winter in the snow. He’s going to kill this guy.

Yugyeom catches up with him just as Mark pulls up, and they pile into his car. “This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” Jackson grumbles. It’s hard to change out of a suit in the front seat of a sports car, but he’s got a lot of practice with it by now. “Dude. Like, ever. I was _so close_.”

As Jackson wrenches his button-up over his head, Mark looks pointedly at the array of scars across his chest and back. “Worst thing, huh?”

Jackson tosses his shirt into the backseat and Yugyeom hands him a replacement. “Hmm. I think that time in Barcelona with that chick-” 

Mark slugs him in the arm before he can finish that thought, which Jackson thinks is like, really unsafe, since he’s driving. “That one was totally your fault,” Mark says, and he smirks. “You know the whole mercenary thing works better if you don’t get distracted by a hot piece of ass who was totally _hired by the other guy_.”

Jackson stuffs himself into his new shirt. “Listen,” he says, and he thinks about dark eyes and sharp cheekbones. “I’m only human. Yugyeomie knows what I’m talking about, right?”

“Right,” Yugyeom says automatically, and Jackson’s victory is kind of tempered by the fact that Yugyeom has barely looked up from his laptop. Jackson feels a little bit betrayed. He stares back at Yugyeom, lower lip sticking out, until Yugyeom looks up again. “Sorry, hyung, I was trying to figure out where that guy came from.”

“Any luck?” Jackson asks. Mark is racing towards their drop-off point and their plane back to Hong Kong, and he’s being totally reckless. “Dude, we’re trying not to draw attention. I have to stop getting you nice cars, you drive way too fast.” Sometimes Jackson hates being in charge of a mission. He’s gotta be all responsible and stuff.

Mark draws to a perfect stop at a traffic light, throwing Jackson a Look. “Nice cars need to be driven fast,” he says, clicking his tongue. “Duh. Stop trying to hold me down.”

Jackson digs his fingers into Mark’s ribs, which is also probably reckless. “Next time, I’m totally gonna leave you in the lab. No more fast cars for you, bro.”

Yugyeom clears his throat noisily and Jackson looks back at him guiltily. “Sorry, kid. What have you got?”

“Um, well.” Yugyeom’s got that kicked puppy look going on again, which means that Jackson’s probably not going to like this. “It looks like he’s Foundation.”

Jackson throws his head back against the seat and groans. “Ugh, I _hate_ Foundation guys.” Jackson and his crew, they’re independent contractors, but the Foundation is something else entirely. A shady, well-organized black-ops team that bills themselves like the Robin Hood of the international mercenary scene, and they’ve snagged jobs out from under Jackson’s nose more than once. This is the first time they’ve done it so close to the kill, though. “Any details?”

Yugyeom shrugs. “Just a code-name? JB.”

“JB.” It’s a start at least. “Well. We’ll look into it when we get back to base.” He exhales noisily as Mark tears through the streets. They’re getting close to the airport now. Jackson squirms in his seat and makes a grumpy, unhappy noise. “I’m so mad right now.”

Yugyeom pats Jackson’s shoulder, and Mark squeals to a stop on the tarmac. “I know, hyung,” Yugyeom says. “I know.” They climb out and head to their waiting private flight, and Jackson lets Yugyeom tuck him under his arm. “We’ll get him, hyung, don’t worry.”

“Yes,” Jackson says. “Yeah, we will.”

 

 

Three months later, that mystery assassin is back, and this time, he’s interfering with Jackson’s supposedly-easy in-and-out information retrieval job. Yugyeom had had no luck with digging out any information on him (as good as he is, shadowy organizations are very good at the whole hiding-important-stuff thing), but apparently, this guy has better sources. Jackson hates him. He _hates_ him.

He’s finally managed to talk his way into the records room and the first thing he sees is _that guy_. “Dude,” Jackson says, the door closing heavily behind him and locking. “I have been working a honeypot on that tech dweeb for like four weeks, I am wearing my tightest pants, my ass looks out of this world, how the hell did you get in here first?”

It’s a little bit gratifying that the guy takes a moment to check out his ass in these pants. Yeah, you better appreciate it. “I guess I’m just better at my job,” the guy says. 

Jackson narrows his eyes. “Maybe if I stole everyone else’s jobs, I could afford to throw money at this kind of thing, too.” And Jackson would rather spend his hard-earned money on fun things. Like these slacks. “What are you doing here? And why do you keep sniping my hits?”

“We want to hire you.” That...really wasn’t what Jackson was expecting. “You guys are good. We’d like to put you to work for us, instead.” The guy tips his head, and Jackson is annoyed to realize that his cool-as-a-cucumber James Bond act that he’s got going on is totally working on him. He’s so unfortunately handsome. What a headache. “What do you say about that?”

Jackson frowns at him. “I say you’re standing between me and half a billion won, man. C’mon.” The man laughs, rolling his eyes, but before he can respond, there’s a cacophony of alarms going off. Jackson glares at him. “Are you kidding me right now? You’re ruining everything.”

The guy holds out his hand. “If I save your ass, will you consider my offer?”

This is the most ridiculous situation. This is the second job this guy has ruined, and he’s all smug with his stupid suit and promises of rescue. “Uh, Jackson?” Yugyeom’s in his ear. “There are like fourteen guys running towards you so maybe you should...go…”

There’s banging at the door, and Jackson clenches his teeth. “I have a driver waiting two buildings over.” He slaps his hand into the guy’s grip and hopes deeply that he isn’t going to regret it. 

The guy’s hand is warm and tight and he drags Jackson through the stacks in the room, towards a fire exit. “Mine’s downstairs.” The guy swipes some card through the door pad and it chimes, popping open, and while they run down the hall, Jackson spares a moment of jealousy. They’ve never had that kind of tech. Yugyeomie deserves toys like that. “Keep up, will you?”

Jackson wrenches his hand out of the man’s grip and works on pulling his cardigan off, abandoning it on a doorknob. “You are not nearly as cool as you think you are, man.”

“No, but he’s pretty close.” 

That’s a voice he doesn’t recognize. That’s a stranger on _his_ comm-lines. They stop in a doorway to check for guards, and Jackson slugs his rival in the shoulder. “Now you’re just showing off,” he says. The guy shrugs a shoulder and grins, looking pretty pleased with himself. It’s an infuriatingly attractive look on him. “When we get out of here, you’re gonna tell me how you did that.”

“That’s a secret,” the man over his comm-line says, and Jackson pulls a face.

They make it all the way down two floors when Yugyeom and the strange techie announce company at the same time. If they head back, they’re only pushing deeper into the building, and that’s not useful at all. “Shit,” Jackson says.

“I’ve got an idea,” his rival says. Jackson can hear the sound of boots approaching down the corridor, and it makes him antsy. He’s got no clue what this guy has planned, but right now, making a run for it sounds smarter. 

He watches as the guy rummages through his pocket and pulls out a building pass, clipping it to Jackson’s belt. He pins another one on himself, and the second they hear the sound of boots rounding the corner, Jackson finds himself slammed against the wall, a pair of hands pressed to his hips and a very, very warm mouth on his. This guy kisses like a pro, and for a moment, Jackson completely forgets about the whole running-from-the-good-guys thing and just savours it, tipping his head up and parting his lips, pulling at the front of his shirt.

“Wang. _Jackson_. Quit macking and get your ass out of there.” 

Mark sounds prickly enough that Jackson pulls away with a groan. “That was such a lame move, by the way,” Jackson tells the guy, and he tugs his shirtfront straight like he can cover up how much he’d liked that. “We’re not in a movie.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” the guy says, smile broadening. There’s no security in the hall, so Jackson smacks him with the back of his hand and then lunges in again, kissing that grin right off his lips. It just seems fair, that he should get a little revenge. He can’t help but feel a little pleased at the way that the man reels back looking a little dazed. Yeah, that’s right. “We, uh, should go.”

“Yeah, we should,” Jackson agrees. He cocks his head, taking a few steps forward. “Coming?”

This time, it’s Jackson taking the lead. “Right behind you.”

Security fooled, they pretty much waltz out of the front door, and when they walk out, Mark is right there, waiting in another of his shiny cars. Jackson can’t say he argues with that initiative. he wants out of here, now. Over their comm-line, Yugyeom is arguing with the other techie, a guy named Jinyoung, maybe. He watches the man he’d escaped with twist, pressing a finger to his ear. “Stand down, Bambam. Meet Youngjae and bring the car around.”

“Guess this is goodbye,” Jackson says cheerfully, reaching for the door handle. Yugyeom and Mark are peering out the window at the two of them. 

“Hey,” the guy says, catching Jackson’s wrist. “I thought you said you’d think about it.”

Jackson smirks. “I didn’t say a thing,” he says. The guy may kiss well enough to make Jackson like, just a tiny bit weak in the knees, but that doesn’t mean that he’s gonna suddenly sign up for his club of rich assassins, or whatever. “Sorry, man.”

“Jaebum.” He blinks at the guy for a moment. “My name is Jaebum.”

“Better than JB,” Jackson says. He tips his head. “Are we done here?”

Jaebum’s mouth works, and Jackson just drinks in this moment, now that he’s got the upper hand. “This is the part where you tell me your name,” he says.

Carelessly, Jackson leans up to press his lips to that sharp jawline. “You’ve already got that figured out,” he says. He climbs into the car, trying not to dwell on how, yet again, he’s going home without the prize in hand. “Drive,” he says, slamming the door shut. The car doesn’t move, and he turns to find that Mark is staring at him, eyebrows raised. “Dude, you’re ruining my cool getaway. Drive!”

Mark laughs, shifting the car into drive and speeding away with a nice, satisfying squeal of tires. “Man,” he says, you are _so_ predictable.”

“Shut up,” Jackson grumbles, and Yugyeom sticks his head between the seats and giggles at him until Jackson plants a hand in his face and pushes him back. His team totally needs to work on their interpersonal skills. “Shut up!”

“I got their guys off our line,” Yugyeom says, rubbing at his nose. “But hyung, you didn’t even tell him your name!” 

Such a romantic, little Yugyeomie. “He’ll find me,” Jackson says, confident.

On the flight back home, Jackson’s phone chimes with a text from an unknown number. _you owe me_. He sends a photo back, a selca with a kissy face. It’s up to Jaebum to interpret that one.


	4. GOT7, JB/Jackson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for anon ♥
> 
> prompt: 'a fic where jackson gets pouty and jealous of jb playing the doting older brother to jimin'

Jackson bursts into their apartment, tossing his bag on the floor and nearly tripping out of his shoes. “Dude, okay,” he says, skidding into the living room, “listen: Mark’s got a buddy who can get us into that new Marvel flick on opening night.” Jaebum looks up from his homework, his eyes already trained into that ‘I’ve-been-studying-all-night’ squint. Jackson has clearly arrived just in time to save him from his suffering. Man, he is the _best_ boyfriend. “Date night, dude. You, me, a buttload of sweaty fanboys, a bucket of popcorn the size of our heads - dreamy, right?”

Jaebum laughs, running a hand through his unstyled hair. “I wish,” he says. He marks his place in his textbook carefully with a post-it, then leans back, his mouth twisted apologetically. “I already agreed to help out Youngjae and Jiminnie on their vocal final.”

That takes a bit of the wind out of Jackson’s sails. “Oh,” he says. “Again?” He folds himself up in the empty space at the end of the couch. “You know, you keep giving them tips, you’re gonna have to make sure they give you credit for your work.” He digs his toes in underneath Jaebum’s thighs. “Maybe you can get some extra grade points for this shit.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to be a good sunbae,” Jaebum says, and he curls a hand around Jackson’s ankle. Jackson stares down at the smears of highlighter on the inside of Jaebum’s fingers. “And they’re smart kids. I’m just giving them a little guidance.”

It’s not that Jackson’s jealous, not really. It’s just that he’s spent a lot of time lately studying and working and not a lot of time hanging out with his main man. And, okay, maybe Jimin and Youngjae have been getting more of Jaebum’s time and that totally sucks. “Ugh, I know,” he says, and he folds himself over his knees, his bottom lip pushed out. “It’s _fine_ , I guess I’ll just throw these prime tickets away on Mark and his lame girlfriend.”

“You like his girlfriend,” Jaebum points out mildly, tapping Jackson on the nose.

“Lame Mark and his girlfriend,” Jackson corrects. Jaebum pets a hand through Jackson’s hair and smiles at him. “Ugh, Jaebum, we haven’t had a date in a bajillion years. I was kinda looking forward to this.”

Jaebum’s expression softens. “I’m not forgetting you,” he says, scratching at the very edge of Jackson’s hairline. It’s a dirty move, because he knows how much Jackson loves it. “I promise. I’ll make it up to you.”

Jackson makes a face. “You better make it very worth it, my friend,” he says. “I had to promise to introduce this Bambam kid to Feifei noona for those tickets, she’s gonna kill me.” Feifei is a lovely, merciful soul, and hopefully she (and her girlfriend) will forgive him for giving a teenage dweeb her phone number. It was totally an emergency.

“Have some faith,” Jaebum tells him, and he grins. “Besides, you’re going to be very busy running away from Jia for the _rest of your life_.”

Jackson groans, shoving Jaebum and rolling off the couch. “You know,” he says from his spot on the ground, “a good boyfriend would be all jumping to my defense.”

“No.” Jaebum closes his textbook and kneels down to press a kiss to Jackson’s forehead. “A good boyfriend trusts you to handle yourself.” He stands, gathering his things to put away. “You’re a big boy. You can deal with the smackdown those two are going to lay down on you.” He’s still smiling when he disappears into their bedroom.

“You’re supposed to be Team Jackson,” Jackson calls, throwing himself down flat on the couch. “This is super, duper unfair.”

Jaebum reemerges, pulling on his jacket. “So is life,” he says solemnly. He bends down again, and this time he kisses Jackson for real, long and lingering, one hand on Jackson’s throat. “I have to go,” he says regretfully. “Dinner tomorrow?”

“Your treat,” Jackson says, voice dark. Jaebum laughs and nods, pulling on his boots. “Don’t forget your scarf, dick.” Jackson grabs it from the coffee table, balls it up and lobs it to Jaebum. “If you catch a cold, I’ll get mad.”

“I’ll see you later,” Jaebum says, winding the scarf around his neck. He tips his head. “I love you.”

“I doubt that!” Jackson tells him. Jaebum snorts and rolls his eyes, waves his hand and heads out the door.

Jackson lies resentfully on the couch for a few moments, his cheek pressed into the couch arm as he glares at the wall. He was really looking forward to that movie, too. Good thing he’s got like four papers to work on. He straightens and drags his phone out of his pocket. _i love you too asshole_.

Jaebum sends back an insufferably cute sticker in response.

 

 

“I brought you coffee,” Jaebum says, setting down the drink in front of Jackson. Jackson makes a pleased noise and pulls it towards him, hands curled around the warm paper cup. “Loaded with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles, just like you like.”

“Nectar of the gods,” Jackson says, taking a long sip. It’s way too hot but it’s sweet and caffeinated so Jackson’s pretty sure he needs it to exist. 

Jaebum sits down across from him. “Better?”

Jackson takes a noisy slurp of his coffee and considers this. “I feel more like a person,” he agrees. “How was film and lit?”

“About as interesting as usual,” Jaebum sighs. “I swear, that professor is at least part robot. Or maybe he’s just dead, and doesn’t know it yet.”

“See, you’re just making it sound interesting,” Jackson tells him. He taps his fingers around his cup idly, and Jaebum reaches out to straighten his hair for him. These quick meetings between classes and late at night, after Jackson’s practices are over, that’s all they’ve had lately. It’s dumb, but Jackson misses his boyfriend. “You busy tonight?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “How ‘bout you tell me over -”

“Oppa!” Jackson’s words dry up when he sees Jimin running over. “Ah, oppa, I’m so glad I found you.” Her long hair is going everywhere with the wind, and she frowns when she stops, pushing at it impatiently. “Ugh. Okay, so, we have our presentation next week, and I’m totally freaking out.” She pouts, and Jackson frowns. That’s his move. “Can you _please_ go over it with me one more time?”

Jaebum’s eyes flick over to Jackson. “Ah, Jiminnie, I, um…”

“ _Please_ , Jaebum oppa,” she says again, and this time she accompanies it with aegyo and enough urgency that Jackson can tell that she’s serious. “I’m losing my mind. Youngjae’s busy with a paper and I need a partner.” She turns her pout on Jackson. “Let me steal him from you for one more night, that’s it, I promise.”

Jackson slumps over the table, resting his chin on his arms. He’s not immune to Jimin’s charms either. “Yeah, yeah,” he sighs. “Go ahead.” 

“Thank youuuuuu,” Jimin squeezes him in a one-armed hug, and Jackson gives her a reluctant smile. It’s hard not to like Jimin, even when she’s monopolizing Jaebum’s time. “As soon as we present, he’s all yours again.”

Jackson flicks the lid off his coffee and sticks his finger into the whipped cream, licking it off. “Thanks,” he says, sullenly enough that Jaebum kicks him in the shin. 

“I have a free period,” Jaebum says, standing with his coffee. “We can get a headstart on it now, if you’d like?”

“Ah.” Jimin claps a hand dramatically to her chest. “You’re a life saver.”

Before they can walk away, Jackson catches the end of Jaebum’s scarf and reels him in. “Hey,” he says.

Jaebum catches his mouth in a quick kiss. “I owe you,” he says. He gently disentangles Jackson’s hand and squeezes his fingers. “A lot.”

“A lot a lot,” Jackson agrees. He watches them walk away before he pulls out his phone. So, dinner’s off. Maybe Yugyeom is free for a night of beers and games. He feels a need to get drunk and shout at his TV.

 

 

When Jackson gets home after class a few nights later, their entire apartment smells like food. _Good_ food. Food from home. That can’t even be possible. Jackson kicks off his shoes, hangs up his coat, and pokes his head into the kitchen to find Jaebum carefully spooning rice into a couple of bowls. “Oh,” Jaebum says. “You’re home early.”

“Professor had to go home sick,” Jackson replies, but he’s distracted by the smell. “Did you…” He squints. “Did you cook?” Jaebum struggles to boil water for ramyun. He’s very suspicious of this.

“No,” Jaebum admits, shrugging. “But I do know how to make rice and keep take-out warm.” He hands Jackson one of the bowls in his hand. “Sound okay to you?”

There’s a smile pushing at the corners of Jackson’s mouth. “Smells like my favourites,” he says, and he follows Jaebum out to the living room. He’s set up a veritable buffet, their entire table covered with dishes. It looks amazing. “Jaebum.”

Jaebum sits down on the couch, gesturing for Jackson to join him. “I owe you, remember?” He smirks. “And I couldn’t just keep letting you make those grumpy faces at Jimin for stealing me away.” Jackson sits down and Jaebum taps his knuckles against his knee. “You’re really cute when you’re all jealous, you know that?”

“I wasn’t jealous!” Jackson protests, outraged. Jackson Wang, jealous of a tiny little (extra precocious) first year? As if. “I couldn’t be jealous if I tried.” Jaebum raises his eyebrows as he lifts his chopsticks to his mouth. “I’m a grown man who behaves like an adult and totally doesn’t sulk.”

“Eat your dinner,” Jaebum tells him, digging an elbow into his side. “I worked hard to order this and put it on plates.”

It does smell so good. “And I’m super proud of you,” Jackson agrees. He steals a bite out of Jaebum’s bowl. “But I hope you don’t think that this gets you off the hook.”

At that, Jaebum’s smile gets sharp. “Oh, I’ve got plans,” he says, and he traces a finger up the seam on the inside of Jackson’s jeans. “You’ve been so good.”

Jackson turns red to the tips of his ears. Okay, yeah, Jaebum’s well on the path to making up for things. “Please don’t try that dirty talk shit, dude, you suck at it and I’m trying to eat.” Jaebum leans over, his forehead pressed against Jackson’s arm, and his shoulders shake with laughter. “I’m serious! No boners during food time. Stop laughing!”


	5. GOT7, JB/Jackson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for anon ♥
> 
> prompt: got7 jb/jackson - fake married au.

“You can’t be serious,” Jackson says. His mouth works for a moment, and he drags a hand through his hair. “Captain, I wanted to get into more serious undercover work but this is a little....”

Captain Meng smiles. “Are you saying no?” she asks. She taps her fingers against the file folders on her desk, staring him down. “I’m sure that I could find other candidates for work with Detective Im. Detective Choi is young, but he works well with Im. Should I call him up instead?”

Jackson grits his teeth and makes a noise that’s embarrassingly close to a whine. “I never said that,” he says. Reluctantly, he reaches for the folder and pulls it into his lap, opening it to the details of the mission. Jackson’s always loved fieldwork, and he’s been begging for a chance to prove himself for ages, but this...this is something else. “Are you sure we have to be, like, married?”

“Yes,” Captain Meng says immediately, and Jackson pulls a face. “We know that these guys are going after gay couples, and the local marital laws pertaining to division of assets would make a married couple the ideal target.” She leans back in her chair. “Detective Im is my best undercover agent. I’m willing to give you a try.” Her smile broadens. “At least, if you’ll step up to the plate.”

Jackson’s good at a lot of things. He’s top of their unit at hand to hand combat, and he’s a crack shot too. He’s not really sure he’d be good at being...married. Especially not with someone as straitlaced (and handsome) as Im Jaebum. But this is what he’s been waiting for, hoping and praying for, and he sighs. “I’m willing,” he mumbles.

“Rein in your enthusiasm,” she says dryly, sliding the second folder towards him. “Study this. It’s your new persona. You have the weekend, and then we’re sending you two in.” Jackson pages through the folder and frowns. He’s got like two days to cultivate an interest in wood-working. Great. “Please work with Detective Im on this as well, we’d like for this to be believable, you know.”

“I can do believable,” Jackson assures her, like he’s ever been in a relationship long enough to get domestic. He’s got a dog, though. That kinda counts, right? “I’ve got this.”

Captain Meng purses her lips for a moment. “I’m sure you do,” she says, and then she dismisses him. Jackson gathers the folders up in his arms and heads back to his own desk, trying not to think too hard about the role he’ll have to play. If he overthinks, he won’t be able to sell it.

And there’s the whole issue of Detective Im. Rumour has it that he was a bit of a rough kid before he got into the academy, and now he’s exemplary, shows up to work every day with his perfectly tied tie and his stupid jacket that shows off how broad his shoulders are. Jackson’s never had to work one-on-one with him, and now they’re gonna have to get real cozy. Hopefully, this won’t be as rough as he’s afraid it will be.

“So.” Mark slides into the seat beside Jackson’s desk. “Working with Im, huh?” He wiggles his eyebrows furiously. “That’s pretty lucky. You and your dreamboat, holding hands in fluffy sweaters.”

News travels fast in this precinct. Jackson kicks him in the knees. “Okay, first of all, I said that he’s handsome once, and I was _drunk_. That practically doesn’t count. Secondly, eat my dick. I don’t wear fluffy sweaters.” He flushes, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I am a professional. I’m gonna do this mission to the best of my ability.”

Mark props his chin up on one hand, a shit-eating grin on his face. “And you just happen to get to make-out with the second hottest dude in our unit in the process, huh?”

“Second hottest?” Mark gestures pointedly down at himself, and Jackson kicks him again. “Whatever, dude. Why can’t you just be happy for me right now?”

“Eh.” Mark shrugs a shoulder. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Jackson’s winding up to punch him again when Im approaches. “Detective Wang.” Jackson straightens up in his seat without thinking. “I guess we’re married now, huh?”

Okay, so maybe the prospect isn’t that bad, not really. “I guess so,” Jackson says, offering Im a smile. “I’m counting on you being the breadwinner, alright? I can be the delicate artistic type.”

Im raises his eyebrows and Mark buries his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with laughter. “I believe in a more equal division of labour in a relationship,” Im says, the corners of his lips pulling up. “You’d better pull your weight.” He taps his knuckles against Jackson’s folder and walks away again.

“Dude,” Mark says, voice choked with laughter.

“Shut up,” Jackson grumbles, pressing his fingers to his red cheeks. “Just...shut up.”

 

 

“So this is home,” Jackson says, dropping his bag and looking around. The house they’ve been provided with is kind of terrifyingly suburban and maybe three times the size of his apartment. “It’s, uh. Big.”

He almost flinches when a voice speaks up behind him. “It’s nice,” Im says. “Lots of room to grow.”

Right. Married. Jackson turns to close the door behind them. “Man, I am so not letting you knock me up,” he says. “Gotta maintain this girlish figure.” He bends to unclip Spot’s leash, and the dog immediately runs to investigate a potted plant. Jackson knows that look. “I’m watching you, little man. You keep that shit outside.”

“Girlish figure,” Im laughs. “Alright.”

They’ve got a couple of weeks to settle into their roles before they start investigating. They’ve got to establish credibility, after all. Let the conmen come to them, and they won’t even have to do any of the heavy lifting. The precinct has set them up with new jobs, which means that Jackson gets to work the gross office job of his nightmares now. At least they’ve got a few days for the move. “Spot, quit chewing on the furniture,” Jackson says, nudging his puppy away from the house plant. “Well. At least the unit didn’t spare any expense.” He pokes his head into the living room. “Shiiiiiiiiit. How big is that TV?”

Im is looking pointedly down at Jackson’s purebred golden retriever. “Spot?” he asks. 

Jackson points a finger at him. “Don’t you judge my dog’s name, Im,” he says. “It’s a perfectly good name.”

“Jaebum,” he corrects. Jackson fiddles with the settings on the TV. “We’re married now, right? We should probably be on a first name basis.”

“Right,” Jackson says. He doesn’t mind the casual familiarity.”You can call me Jackson, then, or Sugartits, if you want.”

Jaebum snorts, and when Jackson looks up at him, he’s looking Jackson over thoughtfully. “You know,” Jaebum says, “I think you have to earn a name like that.”

This married thing is gonna be killer. “Duly noted,” he says, and Jaebum rolls his eyes. 

The whole place is nice, actually. Jackson sinks down into a brand new plush couch and props his feet up on the coffee table. He could get used to this. Spot wanders into the room, licks idly at the leg of the coffee table before scrambling up into Jackson’s lap. Before Jackson can flick on the television, Jaebum taps him on the head with a folder. “Feet off the furniture,” he says. “Study up. I want to be ready for when these guys come for us.”

“Already so bossy,” Jackson grumbles. Spot licks his knee and Jackson flips the folder open, resting it on the puppy’s back. He hates studying. It’s half the reason he became a cop. Jackson likes getting physical, he likes getting his hands dirty. He’s not a super big fan of the whole paper thing. He flicks listlessly at a sheet. “It says here that we met at a _yard sale_ -” He looks up at Jaebum, eyes wide. “Don’t tell me we antique.”

Jaebum shrugs. “If we’ve got money to throw around on old end tables, we’ve got money to lose.” 

Jackson wilts. Now he has to study eighteenth century wardrobes and stuff? He’s not sure that the nice house really makes up for any of this. “Can you be the one that’s into it? I’ll be the one who like, watches indulgently and hands over his credit card, like, ‘Anything for my boo’.” He brightens up. “I can be the sugar daddy!”

The look that crosses Jaebum’s face is a weird mix of amusement and faint disgust. “Oh my God,” he says.

“Just think about it,” Jackson says. He abandons his folder for the TV control. One day won’t hurt. Anyway. 

As he flicks on the TV, he can hear Jaebum moving around in the kitchen, checking out the set up, talking quietly on the phone to Captain Meng. It’s kind of nice, honestly. He wonders if Jaebum can cook. Then Jackson would really have the whole package. “Not a bad deal, huh?” he asks Spot. Spot licks his wrist and goes to sleep.

 

 

It always takes a while, to settle into a pattern with someone new, even more so someone you’re supposed to be married to. While they establish a routine, meet the neighbours and make their roles plausible, Jackson tries to figure out how to work with Jaebum. It’s hard to play the part with a guy who freezes up every time Jackson touches him. “Sorry,” Jackson says, pulling his hand back. They’re in the grocery store, and Jackson had let his hand rest on Jaebum’s back as he’d leaned in to look at something. Jaebum had stiffened up immediately under the touch. “Didn’t mean to, like…”

Jaebum shakes his head. “No, no, I shouldn’t have.” It’s funny, because Jaebum is always so sure of himself, and here, he’s fumbling. He offers Jackson a smile instead. “I’m not a very good husband, I know.”

They’re in public, not really the ideal place for this conversation. “No,” Jackson shrugs. “But me neither. Never done the whole married thing before.” He tosses a box of sugary cereal into their cart. “And hey, in terms of husbands, pretty sure I could do worse.” He watches Jaebum’s face for a moment, gauges his readiness, and nudges him gently. “Look at us. These handsome faces. Picture perfect.”

It goes over a little better this time around. Jaebum scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he’s softening up. Good. Means Jackson can wear him down. “You know,” Jaebum says, wheeling their cart down the next aisle, “you don’t have to play it up. I think the whole ‘living together’ thing sells the relationship on its own.”

“I just call it like it is, man,” Jackson tells him, and Jaebum laughs, turning just a tiny bit red. Jackson likes him like this, not so cool. “You’re a good-looking dude, I’m a good-looking dude, this is a pretty great match, don’t you think?”

Jaebum’s fingers tighten and untighten around the cart’s handle. “You must think pretty highly of yourself,” Jaebum says. “Even though you still won’t keep your feet off the couch.”

“Some men have to be trained,” Jackson says wisely, tapping his nose. Jaebum groans, his smile getting bigger. “Willing to take on a fixer-upper, Im Jaebum?”

“Only if I’m getting paid,” Jaebum says. Jackson pulls a face, exaggeratedly wounded, but he doesn’t get a chance to reply. “Clock those guys over by the bananas. Scoping us out or what?”

Jackson takes his time finding an opportunity to turn around, but when he finally glances back, Jaebum is not wrong. They’re about as subtle as a sledge hammer, but those guys are definitely watching them, and not in a ‘I wonder if they’re swingers’ kind of way. “Man, they’re fast,” he says. “Only took like two weeks to put us on their radar.”

“Hmm.” Jaebum idles by the ramen and Jackson taps his wrist. After a moment’s hesitation, Jaebum lets him slide under his arm and fit himself against Jaebum’s side. “You’d think they were international super spies, not some creeps running a ponzi scheme.”

Jackson hadn’t realized the small size difference until he was pressed right up against Jaebum and getting an up-close-and-personal peek at those broad shoulders. Also, he smells _great_ , wow, Jackson’s gonna have to ask him what cologne he uses. “This job would be like, 900% more exciting if we were spies,” Jackson says wistfully. “A license to kill, cool gadgets…”

They walk slowly down the aisle, matching each other pace for pace. “I’m pretty sure putting anything expensive and lethal in your hands is an enormous mistake,” Jaebum says.

“I’m offended,” Jackson says, and they part at the register, natural, easy. “I would make it _better_.”

They make it through the transaction and all the way to the door before one of the men who had been watching them stops them. Jackson suppresses the urge to smirk. That was even easier than he’d thought it’d be. 

 

 

Over the next couple of months, Jaebum handles most of the interactions with the targets, and with good reason. He’s _good_ at it. Jackson’s never really seen Jaebum in the field, the two of them always working different cases, and he still hasn’t seen him with a gun, but Jaebum on a case is something else. With Park and his buddies, he’s the perfect suburban husband, wide-eyed and sympathetic to all of their tales of woe. After hours, he pores over the evidence they’ve been gathering, spends hours piecing everything carefully together to make a case.

“You know,” Jackson says one night, turning down his mindless sitcom rerun, “you can take a break sometimes.”

Jaebum jerks in his seat, chin jerking up again. “Lots of people depending on this case,” he says, and he covers his yawn with the back of his hand. “I want to do this right.”

“That’s really sweet, but I’m pretty sure your dark circles are getting ready to register their own zip code.” Jaebum reaches up to touch his face, mouth twisting in dismay. “Dude, get some sleep. You’ll think better if you turn your brain off for a night.”

“Alright.” Jaebum leans back and scrubs a hand through his hair, yawning mightily. “Yeah, okay, I think you’ve got a point.”

He bends over the coffee table to start gathering up his things, and Jackson stands to get himself a glass of water before he heads to bed. He glances out the window in passing and just barely catches himself before he stops to get a closer look. “Our friends are back,” he calls over his shoulder. If they’re having them watched, the last thing he and Jaebum need to do is look suspicious.

“Hmm?” When Jackson returns from the kitchen, Jaebum is taking his time closing the curtains. “Ah. You’re right, that car has been there since this morning.”

“Well then,” Jackson says, and he holds out his hand. “Guess we’d better keep up appearances, huh?”

Jaebum takes his hand, and his water, too. “I suppose we’d better.”

There are two bedrooms upstairs, and Jackson has been sleeping in what would technically be the spare. He hesitates at the top of the stairs, but Jaebum doesn’t drop his hand. “Just in case?” he says, like it’s a question, and Jackson kinda digs that. He’s cute when he’s tired, eyes soft and tentative. “There’s plenty of room in my bed.”

“Cool,” Jackson says, and he offers Jaebum a smile. “Always did sleep better with someone else.” 

He hasn’t been in this room since he moved in, but Jaebum’s kept it neat, orderly. Like it’s not his. There’s only one thing, a picture on the dresser. While Jaebum changes and brushes his teeth, Jackson leans in to look at it. It’s Jaebum in his academy days, his arm around someone who looks a lot like Park Jinyoung, the guy who works HR in another precinct. They look young, happy. Nice to know that Jaebum isn’t entirely married to his job.

Jaebum comes out, patting his face dry, feet stuttering to a halt when he sees what Jackson’s got in his hands. “You guys are real cute,” Jackson says.

“Thanks,” Jaebum says dryly, plucking the frame out of Jackson’s grip and propping it up on the dresser again. “I’ll be sure to let him know.” Jackson considers, for a moment, asking if they’re together, but even he’s got more subtlety than that. Plus, probably not the best thing to ask right before the two of you get cozy in the same bed. 

Instead, he tucks himself under the covers. The bed creaks and shifts under Jaebum’s weight, and when he stretches up to flick the lights off. “Goodnight,” Jaebum says softly.

“Night, man,” Jackson replies. His eyes stay trained on the faint outline of Jaebum’s shoulders until he falls asleep.

 

 

He wakes up in the night, once, feeling trapped and restless and too hot. It takes him a moment to shake off sleep long enough to realize that it’s Jaebum. He’s got an arm tight around Jackson’s waist, one thigh tucked between Jackson’s legs. He still smells so good. Jackson could shake him off, push him away, but he’s pretty cozy right here. He tugs one of his blankets off, turns his face into the warmth of Jaebum’s shoulder, and drifts off again.

 

 

When they finally bust the guys, it’s a lot less dramatic than Jackson had thought it would be. They take a unit into the office and clear it out, arresting Park and his men and packing up all the paperwork. “That really wasn’t all that exciting,” Jackson frowns, watching Youngjae and Bambam lead away their targets. “I didn’t even get to pull out my gun or anything.”

Jaebum nudges him with an elbow. “It’s not all like the movies, you know,” he says.

“Oh, I know.” He leans into Jaebum’s side and he’s a little pleased when Jaebum’s arm comes up to bracket his waist, easy and automatic. “I just keep hoping, you know?”

“Keep dreaming,” Jaebum tells him, and he throws a sidelong look at him. “And I’ll keep dreaming that you’ll do the paperwork on this case.”

Jackson clears his throat, a flush creeping across his cheeks. “Whatever, man,” he says. “I’m not any good with paper and stuff, I’m better with hands-on.” He wiggles his eyebrows and Jaebum groans, pushing him away with a hand to his face. 

It turns out that a couple of weeks of sleeping nose to nose does wonders for loosening a guy up. “I don’t know about that,” Jaebum says, “but you did okay for a first-timer.” He shrugs a shoulder, smiling. “I don’t know, I might be up for working with you again sometime.”

“Way to lay on the praise, Im,” Jackson says, like it’s not making him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. 

Youngjae pokes his head through the door. “Hey, guys?” His eyebrows curve up curiously at how close they’re standing, but he doesn’t ask. “Captain needs you outside for the hand-off.” He flashes them a double thumbs-up and a cheesy grin. “Good job with this one!”

“Thanks, kid,” Jackson says. 

When Youngjae slips out and heads back to the unit out front, Jackson turns to Jaebum. “Soooooo…” he says. Jaebum tips his chin to the side and raises his eyebrows, waiting. “Wasn’t such a bad assignment, huh?”

“Tolerable,” Jaebum agrees, a smile playing on his lips. 

Jackson hesitates a moment, hands opening and closing fitfully at his side. “I think...there’s something I want to do. Before we’re not married anymore, I mean.”

“And what’s that?” There’s a challenge in Jaebum’s eyes, and Jackson figures that right now, he’s definitely up to it.

He wraps fingers around Jaebum’s wrist and leans up to kiss him. It’s nothing special, a quick, easy press of his lips to Jaebum’s. “That’s it?” Jaebum asks, and Jackson makes a face.

“I’m trying to be professional,” he complains. “What if Captain Meng walks in on us right now?” He’s pretty sure that a little making on the clock is frowned upon.

“I’m sure she’d be impressed at you punching above your weight class,” Jaebum says slyly. Jackson punches him and follows it up with another kiss, this one a little more lingering, a little more sure.

“Dick,” Jackson says when he pulls away.

Jaebum nods. He brings up a hand to toy with the hair at the nape of Jackson’s neck. “We’ve got things to do,” he says, a bit reluctantly. “Are you planning on finishing this at some point?” 

“Oh, you know it.” Jackson points a serious finger at Jaebum. “Just wait until you see me off the clock.”

Jaebum’s grin broadens. “Can’t wait.”


	6. Haikyuu!!, Kageyama-centric, Kageyama/Hinata

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for jo ♥
> 
> prompt: 'k-kagehina snuggly puppies nyuduujfnemhdg' and also 'the entire karasuno volleyball team turns into puppies'
> 
> i'm sorry

When Tobio had joined Karasuno’s volleyball team, he’d expected he’d have to do some things that might not be his favourite, like early practices, or cleaning up afterwards, but this is something he’d never expected. He almost can’t even believe it, but the puppy in front of him is so small it could practically fit in a teacup, and the exact shade of red as Hinata’s hair. Tobio drops to a crouch and holds out his hand. “Hinata?” he asks tentatively. The puppy yips and licks enthusiastically at his fingers. Tobio jerks away like he’s been burned. “This can’t be happening.”

But it is. Tobio is squatting in the middle of the gym, surrounded by a hoard of puppies that bear a startling resemblance to his volleyball team. While Hinata tugs aggressively on his shoelaces, Tobio stares out at them. He’s never had to look after one puppy, much less a teamful of them. Hinata growls in his tiny little voice, and Tobio scowls down at him. Hinata is systematically tearing his laces apart. “Hey!” Tobio’s hands flutter around for a moment before he reaches for Hinata and gingerly lifts him into the air by his scruff. Hinata barks again, his tiny paws paddling uselessly in front of him, his tail lashing happily. “Don’t do that.”

His voice has gathered the attention of the rest of them, and it’s like an adorable stampede. Instinctively, he tries to take a step back, but he only ends up falling back on his butt, eyes wide, as they trample towards him. Puppies are a lot heavier than he’d anticipated, but maybe that’s just Asahi - unmistakable, because he’s twice the size of most of the rest of them, with soft floppy ears that are so long he’s almost tripping on them. He’s chewing on the hem of Tobio’s shirt, so gently he’s mostly just slobbering all over it. “Gross,” he tells Asahi, and Asahi droops so sadly that Tobio sighs and pets him to make up for it.

It’s getting dark, and they’d only been halfway through practice when Tobio had returned from the bathroom to find his team gone, their abandoned uniforms strewn on the wooden floor and a gaggle of puppies in their place. At first, he’d thought it was some kind of joke masterminded by Tanaka and Nishinoya, but even they wouldn’t pull some stunt this close to a game. And he’s pretty sure neither of them would have the focus to hunt down eleven tiny dogs with uncanny resemblances to their team. 

“This is not good,” he says quietly, and a puppy, slim and soft and grey, lays a paw on his knee. “Thanks, Sugawara-san.” What is he supposed to do with all these dogs? Admittedly, puppy versions of some of his teammates are more tolerable than the usual kind, and Hinata is almost cute like this. Tsukishima, on the other hand, seems just as disdainful as ever, which is impressive, considering he barely reaches Tobio’s shin and Tobio is fairly certain that that’s Yamaguchi batting a paw at his nose and barking happily.

Still, cute or not, they’re a whole lot of puppies. Tobio sets Hinata down and then folds his legs up underneath himself, staring at them. There’s no way he can leave them here, obviously. The principal wouldn’t have nearly as calm a reaction as he had, and he would feel guilty, too. He looks down at Hinata. He’s watching Tobio expectantly, his entire little body vibrating with barely suppressed energy, like his entire being is wagging, not just his tail. The rest of them seem to have lost interest in Tobio, but Hinata is still there. “I can’t take you home, either,” he says gruffly, because he _can’t_. His mother would kill him. He’s not even sure how he could get eleven puppies all the way home, either. The logistics are giving him a headache. 

So what is he going to do? He keeps wanting to reach out and pet Hinata, but that just seems kind of weird. He’s his teammate. Or, well. He was. Now he’s a fluffy little dog. Not very helpful when it comes to nationals. “Even you can’t spike for me like this,” he says, tapping Hinata on the nose, and Hinata growls and snaps at his finger.

Behind him, two puppies are tussling over a volleyball, one even tinier than Hinata is, with big, pointed ears, and a shorthair with big paws and a loud growl. They abandon the ball to squabble with each other. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who they are. Tobio considers separating them, but it feels kind of weird. Do they count as his senpai when they’re puppies?

While he’s casting around for the answer, he’s distracted by Hinata scrambling onto his thighs. “Hey,” Tobio protests, but Hinata ignores him, planting his tiny little body in his lap and butting his head up against Tobio’s belly. He’s got a surprising amount of force, even like this. “Stop that,” he scowls, and Hinata huffs, pawing at his thigh before he curls up, wriggling around to get comfortable.

Tobio has absolutely no idea what to do with this. His hands hover around uselessly before he settles on carefully stroking down the back of Hinata’s head. He’s so small that it only takes three fingers, and Tobio feels extremely weird about it. Or he does until Hinata yawns sleepily and nips at Tobio’s fingers in way that’s inexplicably affectionate. “Keep your teeth to yourself,” Tobio says, and he’s kind of uncomfortable, trapped here on the hard floor by a tiny body, but he’s reluctant to dislodge him. It makes sense that he’d be tired. Even Hinata runs out of energy after hours of practice. “I’m not a good place for a nap,” Tobio warns, but it must not be all that menacing, because Hinata just licks at his hand. Tobio sighs, the corners of his mouth pulling sullenly down. “I just wanted to practice,” he mutters.

Before he can object, though, Hinata’s not the only puppy in his lap. Asahi squirms up and rests his chin on Tobio’s thigh, and Tanaka and Nishinoya abandon their playfighting long enough to set up camp in crooks of his knees. Sugawara and Daichi curl up nose to nose at Tobio’s feet. Even Tsukishima deigns to join them, an excited Yamaguchi at his heels. “Um,” Tobio says. He’s not even sure how to deal with puppies, much when half of them used to be his senpai. They’re so _cute_ , too.

He ends up dozing off, weighed down by a passel of sleeping dogs. He didn’t think he could, but there’s something kind of soothing about the warmth of Hinata’s breath against his belly and the way that Asahi whines in his sleep. As Tobio drifts off, he lets his hand fall to Hinata’s head, thumb rubbing up underneath his ear. 

Tobio wakes up feeling a lot more squashed. He groans and shifts, his hand unconsciously tightening before he realizes it’s tangled in _Hinata’s hair_ \- “What the -” It’s Hinata pinning him to the floor, drooling on his belly, fingers gripping the hem of Tobio’s practice shirt. “Get off me!” It was a dream. Even with the embarrassment of Hinata curled too close to him, Tobio’s gut is flooded with relief. Just a dream. 

And then he hears the laughter around him, and Tobio turns red to the tips of his ears, gritting his teeth. The rest of their team are looking down at them. “Wha’s going on?” Hinata asks blearily, slowly lifting his head. He leaves behind a wet spot on Tobio’s shirt-front. “What happened?”

“I know you have a test tomorrow, and your academic enthusiasm is impressive,” Sugawara says, dropping down next to them, “but you can’t forget to sleep, either.”

Hinata is finally conscious enough to realize that he’s lying on top of Tobio and he practically vaults backwards, stumbling into Tanaka’s shins and looking everywhere but at Tobio. “I didn’t mean to,” Tobio says sullenly, and he hunches his shoulders when Sugawara pats him. 

“I think we’d better call it a night,” Daichi calls, trading amused smiles with Sugawara. “Tomorrow, though, no napping at practice.” He doesn’t sound angry, but he does sound very serious about it, and Tobio nods. 

Hinata nods too, so hard that his hair flops into his eyes. “It won’t happen again,” he says, with the same kind of determined seriousness he uses for when he’s barely conscious and still demanding one more set. “We promise.”

“We?” Tobio asks, but Hinata only manages a quick glance at him before he climbs to his feet and dashes away.

The rest of the team sets about cleaning up after practice, but Tobio lingers for another moment, rubbing absently at the damp patch on the front of his shirt. He can’t stop thinking about how soft Hinata’s hair had felt underneath his fingers. That, at least, hadn’t been a dream.


	7. EXO & f(x), Luna-centric, Suho/Krystal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for frances ♥
> 
> prompt: Luna and Suho remaining to be good friends even now that Suho is supposedly dating her bandmate.

It was an amicable break-up. A lot of people say things like that, but Sunyoung genuinely _means_ it. She and Joonmyun had spent a very enjoyable year with each other, but in the end, it had just made sense to break up. They’d both handled it very sensibly, trading mementos back over a final dinner, and then that was that.

And an amicable break-up means that they’ve managed to stay friends though the past few years in college, and now he’s tutoring her in the theatre arts. “Isn’t that weird?” Soojung whispers, leaning over her work and propping her chin up on one hand. “I mean, that you guys are still friendly. Isn’t it weird?”

Sunyoung caps her highlighter and purses her lips thoughtfully. “No,” she says slowly, “not really.” If Sunyoung is honest with herself, not dating Joonmyun, well, is a lot like dating him, minus the kissing. Her eyes find Soojung’s, and she smiles mischievously. “It’s not like I look at him and start thinking about what we used to _do_ , especially when we’re going over flashcards for my final.”

“Ugh, gross, unnie,” Soojung groans, waving a hand. “Stoooop.” Her cheeks turn faintly pink, though. Ah, that’s interesting. Nothing fazes Sunyoung’s dear dongsaeng, and yet here they are. Laughing, Sunyoung holds her hands up in surrender, and turns back to her studying.

It only takes a moment for Soojung to crack. She never did have very much patience. “So…” she begins, and the way she drums her fingers against her notebook betrays her tension. “So, if he started dating another girl…”

There it is. Sunyoung shrugs a shoulder, grinning. She can see the appeal that Joonmyun would have to Soojung. Since she’s come to college, Soojung has dated a long string of very exciting and kind of awful men. By contrast, Joonmyun looks absolutely ideal. It makes complete sense that Soojung, ever practical, would be interested in Joonmyun, so grounded and unflappable. “It’s been almost a year,” she says. “Of course I would be happy for him.”

“Hmm.”

Sunyoung does her best to compose herself, wipe the smile off her face. “And why do you ask?” She tips her head, the perfect picture of innocence. “Have you heard something through the grapevine? You shouldn’t worry about your unnie, I’ve had more than enough time to move on.” 

“I just want the best for you,” Soojung says, and she’s lying through her teeth. Sunyoung’s smile broadens. “I wouldn’t want you to be hurt by any careless gossip.” She’s carefully and obviously avoiding Sunyoung’s eyes, it’s adorable.

“Of course,” Sunyoung says. She draws her finger down the page of her textbook, reading the same paragraph over and over. Soojung and Joonmyun. They would make a good match, she thinks. Soojung can be a little vain, but she wouldn’t mind that Joonmyun is shorter, and Joonmyun would like her spark, her bluntness. She bites her lip. Would it bother her, if they were together? It would be...strange, maybe. But not bad. “And if that girl turned out to be someone I know? A good friend?” Soojung stiffens. “That would be okay too.”

Soojung tosses her hair, letting it fall like a curtain to hide her face. “I don’t see how that’s relevant,” she sniffs. 

Sunyoung slides her phone out of her purse, drops it stealthily into her lap. “Mhmm,” she says, opening up her Line client. She’s certain Joonmyun doesn’t have class right now, which means she’s got just enough time to be the best unnie. _do you have a moment? soojung and i could use an extra eye on this project._

The answer is prompt. _of course! let me wrap up this tutoring gig._

Sunyoung has always been able to depend on him. She starts to gather up her things, tucking her books into her bag. Soojung stares up at her, eyes wide. “Wait, unnie, where are you going?” She clutches at her pen. “I can’t do this without you!”

Sunyoung offers her her most cheerful smile. “Don’t worry,” she says, smoothing a hand down Soojung’s hair, pushing it out of her face. “I’m sure you’ll find some help.”

As she heads through the stacks to the door, Sunyoung shoots off another Line message. _in the library, in the back corner. bring snacks!_ She’s such a good friend.

 

 

“Sunyoung!” She smiles at the barista and thanks her before turning to find Joonmyun, beaming at her over his thick winter scarf. “Ah, I’m glad I caught you.”

She raises her eyebrows, hooking her arm through his. “Here I am,” she says. “What’s up?” 

“It’s a bit embarrassing,” he admits, “and I, ah, I probably shouldn’t even be asking you.” 

They meander down the sidewalk, arm in arm, and Sunyoung sips her coffee, savouring her first caffeine of the day. It’s true that she and Joonmyun haven’t been spending a great deal of time together lately, but she doesn’t mind that. He’s got other things to be caught up with. “Oh, well, now you’ve made me curious, so you _have_ to tell me.” 

When she sneaks a look out of the corner of her eye, she sees that Joonmyun’s cheeks are pink, and not with the cold. “What should I get for a girl for Christmas?”

Sunyoung laughs out loud, squeezing his arm tight. “Ah, oppa, do you have any girl in mind?” she asks mischievously. “I can’t imagine who it could be.”

“Please,” Joonmyun groans. “Spare me. I need help here, you know.”

“I’m delighted,” Sunyoung tells him, because she _is_. She’s seen the way that Soojung lights up when her phone vibrates, or the extra coat of lip gloss she applies when she knows that Joonmyun will be coming. She tosses her hair so often that Sunyoung is a little worried that she’s developing a tic. “Have you got any ideas so far?”

“Sunyoung-ah,” Joonmyun says darkly. “Would I be coming to my ex-girlfriend for help if I weren’t at least a little desperate?”

“I’m your friend now,” Sunyoung chides him gently. “You can always come to me for help.” Their boots crunch against the fresh snow, and Sunyoung cups her hands around her warm cup. “You know, Soojung isn’t such a puzzle as you make her out to be.”

Joonmyun ducks his head. “I know,” he says, and he sighs. “I just want to get it right, that’s all.”

Sunyoung stops dead, pressing her free hand over her heart. “Why, Kim Joonmyun, you _like_ her.” She only feels the tiniest pang to realize that Joonmyun is flustered over Soojung in a way that he never was over her. Their relationship had been easy, uncomplicated, but Sunyoung had always wanted that big sweeping romance, and Joonmyun would never have been it for her. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Stop it,” Joonmyun says, tugging her forward. His flush is getting worse. “I’m not planning on buying her a ring or anything.”

“Not yet,” Sunyoung says, smile sunny. It’s funny to see him lose his composure over a girl. She really does mean a lot to him. It’s sweet.

“If you’re going to make fun of me, will you at least help me?” he asks, and Sunyoung pats his hand.

“Of course,” she says, without hesitation. “What are friends for?”

They round the corner and come face to face with Soojung, the winter wind blowing her hair everywhere. “Well, this is a surprise,” she says, sliding her arm into Joonmyun’s free one. “Should I be worried?”

“I’ve been sharing all of your secrets,” Sunyoung says blithely. “A boy should always know what he’s getting himself into, especially with you.” She winks.

Soojung makes a noise of outrage, swatting at Sunyoung. “Unnie!” she says. “Don’t be mean.” Joonmyun eyes them both, weighing the need to mediate between them. The next instant, though, Soojung makes it unnecessary. “Besides, two can play that game.” Soojung’s smile becomes razor sharp. “You should tell us about your church oppa.”

“Church oppa?” Joonmyun raises an eyebrow in interest. “You didn’t tell me there’s a boy in your life, Sunyoung-ah.”

This time, it’s Sunyoung’s turn to blush. “There isn’t,” she insists, pressing her cold fingertips to her warming cheeks. “He’s just a friend from my church.” 

As they cross the street, she lets her arm fall from Joonmyun’s. “A very cute friend,” Soojung corrects, her fingers curling into Joonmyun’s in an easy, automatic gesture. They fit together well, Sunyoung thinks.

“He _is_ cute,” Sunyoung admits, and Soojung crows in victory. Sunyoung steals a look at Joonmyun, and the expression on his face is happy, uncomplicated. When she smiles at the two of them, she’s certain she doesn’t regret a thing.


	8. GOT7, JB/Jackson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for anon ♥
> 
> prompt: 'opposite gang AU' a la 'you just punched me and i just popped a boner'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as it's a gang au, there's some minor, not terribly explicit violence

All of the breath leaves Jackson’s lungs in a rush, his shoulders slamming hard against concrete. “Wrong place, wrong time,” Im growls, his hands on Jackson’s chest, all of his weight pinning him to the wall. Jackson squirms around futilely, but Im is solid and strong, and he’s not going anywhere right now. It’s pretty embarrassing. Jackson flushes. “You’ve been doing a lot of that lately, haven’t you?”

He’s not wrong. Jackson’s always had an uncanny knack for getting himself in trouble, and it’s certainly biting him in the ass lately. In his defense, he hadn’t really intended to start shit tonight. He’d met a girl downtown, and after she’d batted her eyelashes and told him his tattoos were _oh so sexy_ he’d somehow found himself persuaded to come party in a part of town he and his guys weren’t supposed to be in. Curse his weakness for stupid hot people. “I told you I don’t want any trouble,” Jackson chokes out. It’s a good thing he doesn’t hold honour too important, because otherwise he’d feel bad about punching Im in the dick. Im crumples, stumbling away from him and clutching between his legs, eyes dark. “I didn’t realize this place was under your protection, alright?”

Im glares at him, breath coming short. “Just like you didn’t realize that punching Youngjae in the face would start trouble?” They both struggle to their feet, eying each other warily, and Jackson rubs at the back of his head. 

“Well, uh,” Jackson shrugs. “Okay, honestly, I’m a little drunk, and thought he was swinging at me.” Also embarrassing. Jackson’s kinda oh for two tonight. He presses his lips together, watching Im. This isn’t the first time they’ve clashed. It’s not even the first time they’ve clashed this _week_. Things are really starting to heat up between his gang and Im’s, and it seems like every time they collide, it’s Im’s fist against his jaw. Jackson’s got more muscle, but Jaebum’s bigger, broader, with the kind of cold stare that makes him effortlessly intimidating. “I was just looking for a good time,” Jackson says, and he holds up his hands. “Dude, you of all people know how hot things are getting lately. Can’t you just let this slide?”

“I’ll show you a good time,” Im tells him, and for one confused moment, Jackson is halfway convinced that Im is trying to hit on him in a weirdly menacing way. That goes out the window when Im throws himself at him, arms swinging. 

Jackson’s sloppy on a good day, and the alcohol only softens his edge. He dodges out of the way, bringing his arm up in a quick uppercut. He catches Im in the jaw, sending him reeling back, but he only gets a second to gloat before Im’s got him down on the ground. Jackson’s head snaps into the concrete and he groans, scrabbling at Im’s hands in the hope that he’ll get away.

Instead, he ends up flat on his back, Im crouched over him, holding him down. Im is good, Jackson’s got to give him that. Also, now that Jackson’s got such an up-close-and-personal view, he’s also pretty aware of how good-looking he is. Most of the guys Jackson works with, fights with, are thugs, dudes that look like bulldogs with fists like sledgehammers. Im’s a lot nicer to look at, that’s for sure. “You need to stay away from here,” Im says. The concrete is cold but Im’s hands on him are warm. “The rest of my guys, they won’t be so nice.”

“This is nice?” Jackson groans. He knows what Im’s saying. Jackson’s been caught up in a tussle with these guys one too many times, and he’s probably about ready to reach the point where he gets his ass beat into a hospital. A knock on the head is pretty small in comparison. “I get it,” Jackson says, grabbing at Im’s wrists. “Alright? Now get off me.”

It takes a moment, but Im eases off, sitting back on Jackson’s thighs. He licks his lips. “Stop getting yourself into trouble, and stop punching my friends,” he says, and Jackson blinks up at him. “I’m tired of going easy on you.”

“I...what?” Im stands and Jackson stares at him, struggling to sit up on his elbows. That wasn’t what he was expecting.

Im rubs at his jaw. “Get out of here, and don’t let me see you back again.” He doesn’t wait for Jackson to answer, just turns and walks back into the club, leaving Jackson outside in the cold.

Jackson pushes himself up, rubbing at the back of his head. He can feel a goose egg forming. Im is fairly highly placed in his gang, and Jackson knows that his own boss will be pissed if he just lets this go, especially since he had Im alone. He hadn’t made a whole lot of that opportunity, huh? He’s at a bit of a loss.

With a grunt, Jackson struggles to his feet, pulling his hood up and heading away. His head is a little spinny right now, between the booze and the hit, but he still manages to dig out his phone and call Mark. 

“What’s up, man?” Mark says. “You sound glum. She laugh when you pulled down your pants?”

“Very funny.” Jackson grimaces, stuffing his other hand into his pocket. It’s cold, this late at night. “Can you give me a ride? Tonight was a bust.” He doesn’t mention the run-in at the club, because he doesn’t think he needs to. Nothing happened, right? 

“Yeah, I guess I can do that.” For a moment, Jackson listens to his boots on pavement and Mark’s breathing as he moves around. “What’s up with you, man? You sound weird.”

Jackson thinks about the heat of Im’s hands and the way that he’d softened and pulled back. “Just blue balls,” Jackson says. “You wanna give me a hand?”

“I think I just threw up in my mouth,” Mark says. In the empty street, Jackson throws back his head and laughs. 

 

 

“So, you’re telling me that he just like, let you go.” Mark picks his beer up, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on the table. “I could’ve sworn that guy gets off on kicking your ass.”

“Well,” Jackson says, toweling his hair dry, “he did give me a pretty nasty bump on the head first.” The headache still hasn’t gone away, but he’s pretty sure he’s not concussed or anything. Im had gone pretty easy on him, after all. “But yeah, he just got up and walked away. Like I wasn’t worth bothering with.”

The confusion on Mark’s face melts into a grin. “Are you disappointed?”

“He made me feel like a bug,” Jackson grumbles. He throws away the towel, turning away to get dressed. The apartment they share is small, but they’ve known each other that it doesn’t matter much anymore. After a decade or two, you quit caring about getting a sneak peek at the guy’s dick anymore. “Whatever, it’s not important.”

“It’s super important,” Mark says. Jackson pulls his sweater over his head and glares at him. “Dude. You’re doing it again.” Mark’s smile is enormous even as he takes a sip of his beer.

“Doing what?” The only beer in the fridge is warm, just put in. Figures that Mark would take the last cold one. “Quit being cryptic.” Mark can be a man of very few words, but right now, he’s just doing it to annoy the hell out of Jackson. What are friends for?

Mark raises his eyebrows, purses his lips. “You remember Youngji?”

“Of course I remember Youngji,” Jackson says. He shoves Mark’s feet off the table. “Nearly got me killed.” He doesn’t like to think about that mess all that often. Trying to date the boss’ kid sister is a pretty rough deal, and even if he’d been head over heels for her, it hadn’t ended well. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying I haven’t seen that look in your eyes since she forgot your name and called you a goon.” His grin gets sly. “You like him, man.”

Jackson hadn’t thought spittakes were a real thing but right now he’s choking on his beer. “Like him?” he gasps. He sputters and struggles for breath. He doesn’t like Im. He doesn’t even _know_ Im. Im’s just some guy from the other side with a penchant for hitting Jackson until he bleeds. That doesn’t seem to be particularly healthy. “You’ve lost it.”

Mark shrugs. “You like people who push back, y’know.” Jackson ignores the sinking sensation in his gut, because it’s easier than thinking about the heat in his chest when he remembers Im’s high cheekbones or the bow of his lips. Oh God. Jackson swallows. “He’s a good-looking dude, at least.”

“He’s the enemy!” Jackson exclaims. He sits down heavily in the chair across from Mark. “He’s a very handsome enemy,” he admits, and Mark covers his laugh with the back of his hand. “This doesn’t mean anything,” Jackson says. “It’s not like I’ll do something about it.”

“Hmm.” Mark tips his head. “Okay.” He takes a long sip of beer and stares at Jackson.

Okay, so maybe Jackson’s got a track record with bad decisions. “I don’t even know his name,” Jackson says, and he can’t tell if he’s trying to convince Mark or himself. There’s attraction there, that’s for certain. And sure, maybe being pinned down has featured more prominently in his jerk-off fantasies in the past couple of days. It doesn’t _mean_ anything, though, right?

“He let you go,” Mark says. “Dude, you took a swing at one of his boys, busted his nose, and all you got out of it was a little roughed up.” He shrugs. “I’m just saying.”

Jackson lifts his beer bottle, thinking. Im could’ve taken him out, no problem. Could’ve started something big. And he hadn’t needed to get that up-close-and-personal, either. “I don’t care what you’re saying, man, this isn’t some star-crossed shit. I’m not Romeo.”

“No,” Mark agrees. “We both know you’re Juliet.” He neatly dodges the kick that Jackson sends his way underneath the table, grinning. “Your taste in people is ridiculous, you know that? I didn’t think you could top ‘boss’ baby sister’ and yet here we are.”

“Shut up,” Jackson grumbles. He leans forward and rests his chin on the table. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” He doesn’t want to think about it either. There’s no way it could turn out well, anyway. He’ll just have to forget it.

 

 

Two weeks later, he’s pretty aware of it. An altercation, this one in Jackson’s crowd’s territory, got a little out of control, and everyone had to scatter. This is why Jackson’s bolting down an alleyway right now, hood up, just trying to distance himself from the noise and the sirens behind him.

He’s not the only one. He skids around a corner and tumbles into Im, both of them going down hard. Jackson rolls and slams into the wall, groaning. His hands are scraped raw and stinging, his back on fire. “Don’t you watch where you’re going?” he gasps.

Im scowls at him, clutching his wrist. It’s at an uncomfortable angle. Jackson’s lips tighten “I could ask you the same thing,” Im says. He struggles to his feet, and when he does, Jackson gets a glimpse of a long red scrape up his pale side before he pulls down his shirt again. “Are you always this reckless?”

Jackson wipes his sticky palms down his thighs, shrugging and making a wishy-washy noise. “Well, I mean, sorta…” He stands, rolling his shoulders, shaking it off. “It’s mostly worked out for me before now.”

Behind them, the sirens are getting louder. This is Jackson’s territory, and he knows it like the back of his hand. Im doesn’t have that luxury. He hesitates, looking from one street to another, unsure. 

It only takes Jackson a second to make up his mind. “C’mon,” he says, and when Im blinks at him, Jackson doesn’t wait for an answer. He just grabs a handful of Im’s shirt and drags him forward. “I know a place. Try to keep up.”

Im swats away his hand. “How do I know you’re not trying to get me busted?” he asks, but he follows Jackson easily. 

Jackson throws him a dirty look. “Do I look like that type?” 

“I guess not,” Im says. He didn’t even have to think about it. Jackson doesn’t know whether to be affronted or pleased.

Their run takes them through a maze of alleyways and back streets, Jackson reaching out to direct Im at each turn with a tap or a tug. They’re getting into a better part of town, one with more people, the kind of people who will look twice at a couple of guys in hoodies running away from the cops. Time for a quick detour.

Jackson leads them into the back of an apartment building, and he gestures up the stairwell with a jerk of his chin. “I got a friend up here,” he says. “We can hide out until the heat dies down.”

“Stairs,” Im says with a grimace, and Jackson laughs. 

“Would you rather be locked up?” he asks, and Im sighs, taking the first few steps at a run.

Six flights later, Jackson is knocking on an apartment door. “Hyung!” Yugyeom says, his whole face brightening up when he sees Jackson. It changes to confusion when he catches sight of Im behind him. “Wait, what -”

“No questions, Yugyeomie,” Jackson says briskly, and Yugyeom steps back to let them inside. “Cops showed up. Can we crash?” 

Yugyeom is eyeing Im like he’s got an extra head on him. “I guess,” he says slowly. As the door closes behind them, Im takes off his shoes, placing them neatly before he heads into the kitchen. Jackson watches him look around, shoulders stiff, tense. He’d be tense too. When he turns back to kick off his own shoes Yugyeom is so close they’re nearly kissing. Jackson jerks back. “What is he doing here?” Yugyeom whispers, eyes wide. “Isn’t he like, one of the guys on the other team?”

Jackson doesn’t actually have any good answer for that. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, patting Yugyeom’s arm. “It’s fine.”

He pushes past Yugyeom into the kitchen and taps Im on the arm. “Bathroom’s over here,” he says. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

Jackson’s not really any good at the whole nurse thing, but he knows how to clean a scrape up. In the bathroom, he hands Im a clean, wet cloth to clean his side. “You’re on your own for the wrist,” he says, and he shrugs, avoiding Im’s eyes. “Sorry about that, by the way.”

“I’ve got someone who can look after it back home,” Im says. He awkwardly dabs at his waist with one hand, grimacing. “Why did you help me?”

Jackson stares down at his hands so he doesn’t have to look at Im. “It was the right thing to do?” he tries. He flexes his fingers, feeling the sting as the skin pulls in his palms. “Not gonna leave anyone to get picked up over something dumb like that.”

When he glances up again, Im is watching him carefully. “Well, thanks,” he says. He drops his hands into his lap. “I don’t know if I would’ve done that.”

“Well, I just figured it was fair, since you’re always going easy on me and all.” Jackson shrugs and a faint smile grows on Im’s lips. “Now you owe me one.”

“We’ll see about that,” Im replies, but for the first time since Jackson’s met him, his expression is friendly. “Does your friend mind if I, uh, grab something to eat? I’m kind of starving.”

Jackson nudges him with an elbow, grins. “Lemme see what I can rustle up, alright?” Im flinches when Jackson’s elbow skates a little too close to his wound, but he looks a lot more relaxed than he did back in the kitchen.

And Jackson? Well, he’s starting to feel just a little bit like Juliet right now.


	9. Haikyuu!!, Kageyama/Hinata

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for my emmikins ♥
> 
> prompt: 'kagehina as a team of two fighting off dragons to protect their village/city'

“It must be you,” Lord Takeda says, and Tobio stares at him, frozen in shock. He holds his arms out numbly as Shimizu buckles on his armour. “There is no one else.”

It takes Tobio a moment to recover his tongue. “How could there be no other?” he says, a bit desperately. He has spent years of his life training for this, years as a rookie, more hours with a sword in his hand than asleep, but he has never seen a day’s combat. He was ‘too young’, Captain Sawamura had insisted. It seems he is not too young now. “Surely Asahi, or perhaps Nishinoya -”

“Are both out of the city on training routines with Captain Sawamura.” Lord Takeda clasps Tobio’s hands between his. The man is no warrior, a politician at best, but he does a capable job minding the city while Captain Sawamura is away. ”It promised to be a quiet week, but it seems that we were mistaken. The city is my charge, and we both know that you are the best chance we have.”

Shimizu hands Tobio his sword, and when he looks at her, eyes wide and anxious, she nods at him firmly. He feels strangely reassured. “I have never -”

Lord Takeda cuts him off. “You are Sawamura’s brightest. He has told me many times.” Tobio’s fingers tighten around the hilt of his sword. “Would you rather you never get the chance to prove yourself?”

Tobio would rather his chance come when there is someone behind him, ready to catch him should he fall. If he is not up to the task, there will be a great deal of lives in danger. “No,” he says. He draws himself up. “No, I will do it.”

Lord Takeda claps a hand on his shoulder. “I would not trust so great a task to someone I did not have faith could complete it.” Alone, he does not say, though he must think it. Most of the barracks are out with Captain Sawamura, meaning he is the best of what is left. It is not so very encouraging, nor is the fact that he stands alone with his sword and his armour. With a dragon, strength is not in numbers. “Good luck, Kageyama.”

Taking a deep breath, Tobio buckles his sword belt on and settles it over his hips. “Thank you,” he says quietly. He folds his hands carefully in front of him and stares at a point just over Lord Takeda’s shoulder. “I will not let you down.”

Lord Takeda offers Tobio a bright, enthusiastic smile, and Tobio wishes that it gave him more courage. And now, he has a horse he must saddle, and a dragon he must defeat. He can waste no more time.

 

 

Tobio has always wanted to be a dragon slayer. When he was a child, his favoured toy was a wooden sword, used to fend off his father’s dogs. Instead of his studies, he had spent long hours training with weapons and ride. Swordplay from horseback is not nearly as easy as it would appear.

He had managed it, though. From the moment he had entered the rank of the city guard, he had established himself at the top of his class. His focus had been singular, his days for endless practice with weaponry, tactics, his nights for studies of the beasts themselves. His competitive nature has not made him many friends, but Tobio had judged it worthwhile, as long as he continued to be the _best_.

This seems to have come back to bite him now. Now, the only company he has is his faithful steed, and he is riding off in the direction of a beast of legend. “If I am real lucky, they will sing ballads about my bravery,” he mutters.

The reports of the dragon had been hasty and sparse, understandably so. If they are to believed, the beast is larger than any that have approached the city so far, a bright, brilliant white. At first, it had appeared as though a flash of sunlight upon the horizon, silent and shining, before it became clear that it was something far more dangerous. 

But Tobio will face it. This is, after all, what his entire life has been leading towards. He will slay this dragon.

 

 

Sundown is approaching when Tobio nears the dragon’s reported lair. He pulls his horse to a halt, considering it. He is already at a great disadvantage against the beast, and to fight in the dark would be fool-hardy. Still, should he wait, he risks letting the beast get within reach of the city, and that, he could not stand. He must choose wisely.

While he hesitates, though, he hears the sound of hooves on packed dirt approaching behind him. He has not met many people on route today, and he had not anticipated company. He brings his horse around to see a figure gallop up. “Hello!” the man shouts out, waving a hand. Or perhaps he is a boy, Tobio thinks. He is small enough for it, that is certain. “Kageyama, correct?”

Tobio frowns when the man uses his name. “What brings you here?” One hand steady on the reins, the other strays down towards the hilt of his sword. He is no stranger to the tricks of a cutpurse. He does not wish to be caught unaware. 

The man charges forward, uncaring of Tobio’s stiff stance and threatening expression. “I have come to help you slay the dragon, of course!” he announces. There is something familiar about him, that fine red hair and eager expression. Tobio struggles to place him. “My name is Hinata Shouyou. I am very excited to meet you.”

Ah. Hinata. Tobio remembers him now. He comes from a neighbouring city, and he had taken part in friendly competition, once. Tobio recalls him being completely unskilled, but with a kind of innate energy and enthusiasm that he had admired from the beginning. “I did not ask for assistance,” Tobio says gruffly.

Hinata flaps a hand in dismissal. “Yours is not the only city within reach of that beast,” he says cheerfully. He peers up at the darkening sky, and Tobio can’t decide if he is impressed by Hinata’s unflappable energy, or entirely irritated. He settles on a combination of the two. “Shall we wait for dawn? It is too late now.”

“We?” Tobio says incredulously. He cannot imagine what use Hinata’s graceless enthusiasm could be. It has been only months since the competition and unless Hinata has discovered some enchanted sword, it is unlikely he has improved so drastically. “I suggest you turn around and go home. I have the situation well within hand.”

“You would rather face a dragon alone than with me?” Hinata asks, voice rising. He puffs his thin chest out, looking irate.

“The idea has its appeal,” Tobio says darkly. But this is no place for an argument, not when the two of them stand alone in the wilds as the sun sets. Tobio would feel very guilty were he to send Hinata back in the dark by himself. Such a small man could run into trouble at night. Tobio sighs wearily and rubs at his eyes. “No matter. We can camp here, beneath those trees, until sun up, and then you can return home.”

Hinata’s expression is half pleased and half irritated. “You are no older than I,” he grumbles, but he dismounts without further complaint.

Tobio hopes for a quiet night, but instead what he gets is Hinata, chattering away as he struggles to light a fire and set out his bedroll. Tobio becomes far too acquainted with Hinata’s training methods and what he feels about the great beast they are to fight, how marvelous and smart it is, and all he wishes to do is get a full night’s sleep before tomorrow’s battle. “Enough,” Tobio snaps finally, and behind him, his horse whickers in surprise. “If you do not cease your prattle, I will feed you to the dragon and then there will be no more argument.”

Hinata stares at him, eyes wide. “Alright, _my lord_.” He grumbles indistinctly as he climbs into his blankets, shifting around noisily before he settles down, and Tobio exhales. Finally, some peace and quiet.

Quiet enough for Tobio to dwell on how he must defeat a dragon when the light returns. He rolls over, away from the fire, and he does not get much sleep tonight.

 

 

When the sun rises, Tobio is stiff and tense, and Hinata is still full of his overwhelming energy. “Do you think they will write a ballad about us?” he asks Tobio excitedly, strapping his bedroll to his horse once more. “Of our great deeds and bravery.”

“I am not doing this for the acclaim,” Tobio says tightly, as though he were not dreaming of the same thing not so long ago. “We need to move, now. We’ve already wasted enough time.”

“You said we,” Hinata notes, beaming at him, and Tobio scowls at him. Hopefully, two heads will prove better than one.

They find the dragon sunning itself upon a rock face, not more than a few hours’ ride away. Tobio’s heart begins to gallop in his chest, and he draws his sword. He will protect his city.

He is about to kick his horse into a run when Hinata knocks his hand away. “Wait,” he says, and Tobio glares at him. “I have something I wish to try, first.”

“Are you joking?” Tobio snaps. They have the element of surprise, now. Should he let Hinata have his moment, they could waste what precious little advantage they have. “This is not a time for games, Hinata. Lives are at stake.”

“I know,” Hinata says, so fiercely that it chases Tobio’s voice away. “Trust me.”

Tobio has no reason to. Hinata, in competition, had proven himself completely untrained, not even as strong as the first year junior guard. But what had caught Tobio’s eye, so long ago, was Hinata’s instinct. He leapt without looking, and sometimes, such a risk could pay off. “What do you suggest?” he asks finally.

Hinata winks. “Stay here.” Before Tobio can object, he kicks his horse into a canter, and he is off.

It rankles Tobio, to sit and watch. Hinata is so small, and he does not even reach for his sword. The beast is enormous, the size of a house at the very least, with massive, pale wings and spines all the way down its back. What is surprising, however, is its silence. Daichi has spoken of the roar of a dragon, of being deafened for days afterwards, but this beast does not open its mouth. It simply raises its head and fixes Hinata with its steady stare, as though waiting for him to act.

Hinata is unpredictable, that much is certain. But Tobio had certainly never expected him to ride right up to the dragon. “What is he doing?” Tobio mutters, pulling unconsciously on his reins. His horse shifts uneasily beneath him. As he approaches, the dragon lowers its head, and Tobio panicks. How can he be so foolhardy? “Hinata!” Tobio shouts, and he’s chasing after him before he realizes it. He can not let Hinata sacrifice himself like this.

As he nears the beast, he realizes that he has been mistaken. As Hinata dismounts, the dragon leans in, as though scenting him, allowing Hinata to press his hand to its scaly hide. “It is alright!” Hinata calls, waving enthusiastically. “Look, it is alright!”

Tobio pulls up and almost tumbles off, striding up to Hinata. “Foolish!” he shouts, grasping Hinata by the collar and shaking him. “How could you do such a thing! You could have been killed!”

The dragon raises its head in Tobio’s direction and snorts, hot air gusting across his face. Tobio takes a step back. “Easy,” Hinata says, patting the beast’s nose, as though it were an oversized pup. He turns to Tobio. “The legends say that once, dragons were our friends.” Tobio raises an eyebrow and purses his lips. Legends are just that, of course, legends. “And I had read that the silver breed of Dateko was aggressive only when provoked.”

“You took a great risk,” Tobio tells him, but Hinata seems unconcerned. “To trust your life to legends.”

“Our cities are safe,” Hinata says, and when he looks at Tobio, his smile broadens. “Sometimes, you must have a little faith.”

Tobio takes a hesitant step forward, touches his fingertips to the pebbled skin of the beast. It snorts again, nudging up against his hand. He cannot argue with Hinata’s logic, that much is certain. He looks at Hinata and smiles back, just a little.


	10. GOT7, Jackson & Yugyeom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for lonio ♥
> 
> prompt: 'Jackson/yugyeom hero worship'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> involves a scene in a burning building

Jackson’s felt a lot of repercussions since getting caught in that lightning storm. Restless legs at night, weird headaches when it’s too sunny, superhuman strength - although that one, that’s maybe more of a perk. “Dude, I could go pro,” he says, considering the spoon in front of him. He wants to bend it, just because he _can_ , but he’s pretty sure the cafe they’re in would kick him out if he keeps ruining their cutlery. “Like, go olympic-level with weight-lifting.” He pushes his sleeve up and flexes. “The boy wonder.”

Mark’s barely paying attention. “Wasn’t Robin the Boy Wonder?” he asks idly. He lifts his eyes from where he’s scrolling through his phone, and he smirks. “Gonna pop on some spandex tighty whities and fight crime?”

“Nah,” Jackson says, frowning down at his thighs. “I mean I have _fantastic_ legs but I’m kinda hairy. I’m not really up to the whole waxing upkeep to keep me shiny and smooth.”

“Fair enough,” Mark says, grinning. He turns back to his phone. “Green isn’t your colour anyway.”

It’s not like Jackson really wants to go public with these new abilities anyway. He’s seen enough superhero movies to know that that’s a big no-no. Never really turns out well. It’s not like he even really knows what he can do, anyway. He’d only really worked out the whole strength thing a week after the storm, when he and Mark were relaxing and drinking a few brews. He’d managed to crush three cans in five minutes. After that, he’d figured he’d keep it to himself. Better that than getting scooped up by some scientists and having his brain experimented on.

Still, it’s kinda nice to think about. Wearing a mask, saving the day. Hot babes throwing themselves at him. That seems kinda cool. Like being a rockstar, but all righteous. Good thing Jackson’s not really into committing himself to an alternate identity and a full-time job like that.

But maybe he’ll get a shot at it anyway. While Jackson toys with his spoon, tapping it against his mug, the noise in the cafe starts to increase. It takes Jackson a moment to register it, that everyone is murmuring, staring out the window. “Holy shit,” Mark mutters, peering up at the building across the street. “Man, I think that apartment building is on fire.”

He is not wrong. Jackson stands up, hands pressed flat to the table top and looks up. He can see flames licking out of a fourth floor window, smoke blackening the rest. People are spilling out of the front door, coughing and blinking up at the fire. “That’s crazy,” Jackson says slowly. “Should we call 911?” Mark shrugs, and a quick look around shows him that at least four other people have had the same idea. Jackson fidgets, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. “Should I...should I do something?” Aren’t superheroes always doing this shit? Using their power for good, rescuing babies and small puppies from burning buildings. It seems a waste to do nothing.

Mark stiffens at that, eyes big. “I don’t know,” he says hesitantly. He turns back towards the building, and both of them flinch as another window shatters, sending glass to the ground and the fire leaping out and up. “I mean, do we even know if there’s anyone else in there?”

It only takes a moment for Jackson to decide. “I’m gonna check it out,” he says, and he reaches for his hoodie, pulling it on one arm as he heads out the door. Mark’s just a half step behind him.

There’s a crowd gathering in the street now, talking and rubbernecking over the fire. He can’t feel the heat from down on the ground, but he can hear the roar of the flames. “Man,” Mark says, his arms crossed over his chest, shivering in the winter cold. “It’s not like someone’s gonna be running around, screaming ‘where’s my baby?’”

“I know that,” Jackson grumbles, although part of him was kind of hoping that they would. After all, he got super strength, not telepathy. He’s really only guessing.

They weave through the crowd, and Jackson tries to keep his head up. It’s not like he _wants_ to go charging into a burning building, but he kind of hates this, knowing that he’s got the kind of ability now, to do something, and he’s not doing anything at all.

“They’ve sent firetrucks,” a young man says as they walk past, pulling an older woman into his embrace. “They’re on their way, mom, they’ll find him.”

She grips at his sleeves, tears tracking down her face. “But where is Yugyeom?” she asks, almost wailing, and it’s a bit heartbreaking. “You said he was right behind you.”

The young man’s lips tighten, and he doesn’t have an answer for that. _Bingo_ , Jackson thinks. He zips his hoodie up to his chin, and Mark claps a hand against his shoulder. “Be safe, man,” he says.

“Don’t worry about me,” Jackson tells him. 

He pushes away from the scene, down the empty alley beside the building. There’s a basement door back here, locked a few times. It’s not really a telephone booth, but it’ll do. He pulls his hood up over his head and grits his teeth, and barrels through it. 

It splinters even more easily than Jackson had thought it would, and he trips over the broken half of it, stumbling into a staircase. “Ow,” he mutters, rubbing at what he’s sure will be a goose egg on his forehead. This doesn’t really feel all that heroic. 

Down here, the air is still clear. The fire is four floors up. Four flights of stairs. Jackson groans, gripping the handrail and pulling himself up. Being super strong hasn’t really made stairs actually fun, unfortunately. This is the thing that the comics don’t show you, he thinks, rounding the next flight. There’s a lot of work to this life-saving shit.

Two flights up, there’s smoke now, and the halls are still empty. He checks all the apartments anyway, and only manages to free a handful of cats. There’s a puppy, too, but when he lets it out, it stares at him, bewildered, whimpering, and Jackson sighs, stuffing it down the front of his hoodie. It’s not like he could just _leave_ it.

By the time Jackson hits the fourth floor door, it’s hot, and it’s getting hard to breathe. If this kid’s still up here, he’s got to be having a rough time of it. The doorknob is warm beneath Jackson’s hand and the puppy trembles against his belly. “Here goes,” he says, and he opens the door.

The smoke is awful here. Jackson has to drag his shirt up to cover his mouth, the hand not cradling the dog automatically moving up to shield his eyes. The fire is so bright it hurts his head, licking at the carpet at the end of the hall. His heart sinks a little at the idea of checking each and every room, but this time, he’s lucked out. In their haste to leave, a lot of the residents have left their doors open, making it pretty clear where this kid is not. “God, I hope he’s not just lost somewhere in the crowd,” Jackson mutters to himself. He’s gonna be so mad if he did all this for a puppy the size of a teacup.

When he opens the third door, the walls at the end of the hall cave in. Jackson has to throw himself to the side to avoid getting crushed and burned. Sweat is rolling down his forehead, adding to the sting of smoke in his eyes, and he’s just so close to giving up. Maybe he’s not hero material after all.

Then he sees a face through the flames. Young, just some teenager, peering at him through the new hole in the walls. “Hello?” the kid shouts, and Jackson’s heart lurches. He _was_ here. “Is someone there?”

The remnants of the fallen walls are now burning their way through the hallway floor, and there’s no clear path through. Jackson’s gonna have to do something very, very stupid. Well, even more stupid than playing superhero in a burning building. He pulls the collar of his hoodie out, looking down at the puppy. “Hang on,” he tells it. “We’re going in.”

Jackson backs up a few steps, takes a deep breath, and then he’s barreling down the hallway. He leaps over the flames on the floor, feeling the heat of them singing the soles of his shoes, but then he’s through. 

That was the easy part, though. There’s a massive beam collapsed through the centre of the kid’s apartment, trapping him up against the wall. He could take the window, but he’s just a kid. He doesn’t have Jackson’s whole deal. He probably won’t do so well. He waves a hand at the kid over the barrier of flames, yanking down his shirt so he can see his face. “I’m here to help,” he shouts, and the kid nods, fearful, eyes wide. “Just. Relax.”

The face that the kid makes at him would be funny if Jackson wasn’t kind of terrified that the floor is going to give out underneath them any moment now. He’s really gotta think fast. Trying to get across the beam is gonna waste time, and they need to get out of here as soon as possible. He needs that kid here, now. “Listen, I need you to jump,” he shouts, and the kid looks horrified, shaking his head. “Trust me,” he says, and he holds out his hand. 

The kid hesitates, and Jackson can feel the puppy squirm and paw at his gut. “C’mon,” Jackson says, and when he turns back to look out in the hall, the flames have gotten higher. “I know it’s scary, but it’s gotta be better than burning alive, right?”

It’s amazing, how fast someone can move when motivated. The kid flies over the beam and into Jackson, and Jackson barely escapes squashing the puppy between him. “Dude, you can move. Check you out,” Jackson tells him, and the kid’s laugh is borderline hysterical. He’s here, though. One step down. Four flights to go. 

“Okay,” Jackson says, and he pulls out the puppy, handing it to the kid. “Hold this little guy for me, will you?” There’s a crack and a roar as something else gives out, and he swallows hard. “Alright, I’m Jackson, by the way.”

The kid is shaking like a leaf, clutching the dog to his chest. Up close, he looks even younger, even though he’s like half a foot taller than Jackson is. “Kim Yugyeom,” the kid tells him.

“Yugyeom, cool, nice to meet you.” Another deafening series of cracks, and Jackson grips Yugyeom’s arm, jerking him back as the floor gives out beneath the burning beam. “Listen, I’m sure you’re real nice, but I’m gonna go ahead and leave the whole-getting-to-know-you think until after we’re not in mortal danger. That sound good to you?”

“Yeah, okay,” the kid says immediately. He’s so close that he’s basically leaning against Jackson, as scared as that puppy. It’s a good thing that Jackson’s got that super strength thing going for him.

“I’ve got an idea, but I need you to hang on to me, alright?” Jackson drops into a crouch and taps his shoulder, gesturing for Yugyeom to climb onto his back. “Look after that dude too. I’ll get you outta here. I promise.”

Yugyeom hesitates. “Okay,” he says finally, and Jackson hoists him up, no problem. Superhero powers, activate. He’s got this.

Back out in the hall, the fire has gotten high and fierce. His easy jump has gotten a lot less easy now, flames spanning from the end of the hall almost all the way to them. Jackson exhales. Fuck. “Not so bad,” he tells Yugyeom, shifting his weight on his back. “This is a cake walk. Trust me.”

“Is there something wrong with you?” Yugyeom asks, and he coughs. 

Jackson grins. “Probably. Still gonna save your life. Cool with you?” 

The closest stairwell is engulfed in flames, and the next one is behind a wall of fire. Rock and a burn-y place. “Hold your breath,” Jackson tells Yugyeom, and then he takes a run at the far end of the hallway. They fly through the fire, and he lands in the middle of it, but Jackson squeezes his eyes shut, barreling forward until they’ve moved out of the flames. Jackson stumbles, shaking Yugyeom off accidentally, and tumbling to his knees. He registers, faintly, that his pants are on fire. 

Yugyeom squats down beside him, beating the flames out with his hands. “Are you okay?” he asks. “How did you do that?”

“I’ve got really strong thighs,” Jackson says, and then he gets to his feet, dragging Yugyeom up. “Alright, let’s go. It’s getting a tiny bit warm in here.”

Jackson leads them down the stairs to the door he’d broken into. He can hear sirens now, through the roar of the fire, which is a relief, but Jackson feels a tiny bit of pride. If it weren’t for him, Yugyeom wouldn’t have made it. He’s _awesome_.

They get to the door and Jackson pats Yugyeom’s shoulder. “Alright, kid, I think you’re good from here.” He pats the puppy’s head. “Make sure this dude finds his way to his owner.”

“Who _are_ you?” Yugyeom asks. He’s standing almost too close. “You saved my _life_!”

“All in a day’s work,” Jackson says, tipping an imaginary hat. He winks, and Yugyeom’s eyes get even bigger. “Get back to your mom, dude. She’s worried.” Yugyeom looks over his shoulder at the crowd still out in the street, and Jackson uses the opportunity to slip away, rubbing at the soot on his hands and his face. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket. _saved the day?_

 _just call me boy wonder_. Minus the shorts, of course.


	11. GOT7, JB/Jackson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for anon ♥
> 
> prompt: 'can i request a college au with jackson/jaebum?'

Jackson’s getting the distinct impression that no one is listening to him. There’s something very insulting about that. “Guys,” he says, frowning. “This is serious.”

“Your dorm room isn’t haunted, Jackson,” Jinyoung sighs. “Let it go.” He pushes a hand through his hair and drums his pen against his notebook. “I have midterms to study for, I don’t have time for these stories.”

Mark laughs, and Jackson punches him. “You guys suck. I’m not joking about this!” He droops a little, pouting into his coffee. He hadn’t really expected much of a reaction to this, but this is even worse. “How am I supposed to get any sleep when there’s some dead Peeping Tom hanging out at my place?”

“You’re not into that?” Mark asks, and his grin only gets wider when Jackson swings again. “C’mon, dude. Just because you forgot where you put down your water glass doesn’t mean you’re being haunted.”

“It’s more than just that,” Jackson insists, because it _is_. Things in his room keep moving around, and it’s not like he thinks that Mark is snooping. He already knows all of Jackson’s secrets anyway. Things move around, and his lights flicker, and sometimes the door slams. It’s totally creepy. “I haven’t slept right in like two weeks.” They’re all supposed to be studying, but Jackson’s on his third coffee and still too tired to focus. It doesn’t bode well for his midterms.

Across the table, Jaebum laughs. “You don’t think that’s got something to do with all night movie marathons?” He raises his eyebrows. “It’s not insomnia if you refuse to go to bed, you know.”

“I never said it was insomnia,” Jackson says, pulling a face. “I said I was being _haunted_. And it’s not like this is Casper the friendly ghost, here.”

Mark snorts. “It’s more like Casper the sort of annoying ghost,” Mark says. “Wind blew the door shut, oooh, real spooky.”

“It’s the middle of the winter,” Jackson says. “We don’t keep the windows open. It’s a _ghost_.”

Jinyoung checks his phone and curses, tapping Mark’s shoulder. “Well, good luck with that,” he says as the two of them gather up their things to head to their class. “Maybe you should try to make friends with it?” 

“You’re useless,” Jackson tells him, flipping off his back even as Jinyoung and Mark laugh. 

Once they’re gone, Jackson frowns down at his notebook, idly doodling cartoon ghosts in the margins. He was kind of hoping that they’d take it a bit more seriously than this. “You’re really freaked out, aren’t you?” Jaebum asks, and Jackson glances up at him, flushing. “You’re not kidding about this. You’re scared.” Jackson’s halfway expecting more teasing, but Jaebum’s eyes are soft, thoughtful.

“It’s happening all the time,” Jackson mutters. “I’ll be trying to fall asleep and things will just...fall over, crash, and then I’m too wired to knock out.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Never happens in Mark’s room. I guess I’m just lucky.” Maybe Mark’s right. Maybe it’s just a draft somewhere, some weird, freakish thing with airflow or whatever, but it’s really unsettling, and it’s making it hard for Jackson to focus on anything.

“I can crash, if you want?” Jaebum offers. Jackson blinks at him. He hadn’t expected that. “Maybe it’ll make you feel better if someone else is there.”

He’s got a point. And if someone else sees the things that he sees, maybe then he can convince them that something is up. “If you’re not busy, I guess,” Jackson says. He’s never had a sleepover with Jaebum, at least, not one without other people. Or one where they’re not wasted and passed out. “I mean, I know you’ve got midterms too.”

Jaebum shrugs a shoulder. “I can take a night off,” he says. “Especially if it’ll help you out.” He smiles. “How does that sound?”

“It sounds like a deal,” Jackson says, holding out his hand, and Jaebum reaches across the table to high five him, grinning back.

 

 

Jackson’s dorm room isn’t all that big, but there’s enough room for a sleeping bag on the floor, at least. Jackson makes a nominal attempt at studying, but his Netflix account is a lot more interesting, and he’s too jittery to focus on charts and dates. He’s on edge, waiting for something to happen. His ghostly roommate, though, seems pretty quiet tonight. Of course.

Jaebum’s camped out at Jackson’s desk, and when Jackson shifts position for the fourth time in five minutes and changes the show he’s watching, Jaebum spins in his seat. “Are you at all capable of sitting still?” he asks, looking amused. “Or even sitting through a single episode.”

“Sorry,” Jackson groans, flopping forward and burying his chin in his blankets, letting his arm dangle off the edge of the bed. “I’m all like, nervous.”

“Because you’re all alone with a boy in your room?” Jaebum suggests, grinning at him, and Jackson groans and throws a pillow at him.

“Dude, you definitely don’t count,” he says, although his face is heating up, and honestly, it’s not like he minds that. Hanging out alone with Jaebum, spending time looking at his face, it’s not exactly a hardship. But Jaebum’s joke has taken some of that edge off, at least. “Shut up. Talk to me when you’re not all Captain Work-Before-Play.”

Jaebum whips the pillow back, and his aim is brutal, slamming into Jackson’s face. “Am I supposed to be insulted by that?” Jaebum asks, his smile toothy and broad. “You really are off your game, huh?”

“Don’t remind me.” Jackson says glumly. He’d hoped that Jaebum being here would help his case, but he’s still nervous and weird about everything. Maybe he should just go to sleep. If the ghost stays quiet while Jaebum’s here, at least he’ll get some sleep. “Ugh. I think I’m gonna knock out, man.”

It’s a little after one anyway, and Jaebum flips his textbook shut. “Alright,” he says. “I won’t keep you up.” He flicks the lamp off as Jackson pulls off his shirt and puts away his laptop, sliding off the bed to the bedding on the floor. “Hey. what are you doing?”

“Being a good host,” Jackson says, a little indignant. “You didn’t think I’d make you sleep on the floor, did you?”

Jaebum shrugs. “I didn’t think it was out of the question,” he admits, and he looks reluctant, but Jackson’s already turned the sleeping bag on the floor into his own personal cocoon. Jackson isn’t going to give him a choice in the matter.

All tucked away in his blankets, Jackson gets a nice view when Jaebum changes into his pajamas, pulling his shirt off carelessly before pulling on another, old and worn. Jackson’s not ogling, obviously, but he’s gotta appreciate the well-muscled stretch of Jaebum’s shoulders. He’s only human. “Are you gonna be okay down there?” Jaebum asks, sitting down. “The ghost isn’t going to get you, right?”

“Don’t make fun,” Jackson grumbles. 

Jaebum prods him gently in the belly with his toes. “I’m just teasing,” he says, climbing under the covers. “Relax.” Jackson glances up at him, and he can see Jaebum frown for a moment. “Did you wash these sheets?”

“Duh,” Jackson lies, and Jaebum groans and laughs. “Don’t question my hospitality. Go to sleep.”

“Alright,” Jaebum says, and Jackson can hear the smile in his voice. “Sleep well.”

Maybe he will, this time. “I always sleep better with someone else, Jackson says, rolling over, and he tries to nod off.

 

 

An hour of tossing and turning later, no go. Even with Jaebum right there, just a few feet away, Jackson can’t help but be tense, waiting for that crash, that bang of something tumbling down. Of someone there. He huffs and turns over again, staring down the red glow of his alarm clock and willing time to go faster.

“Stop sighing.” Jaebum’s voice is loud in the darkness of the room, sleepy and tinged with annoyance. “Are you still not asleep?”

Whoops. “Sorry,” Jackson winces, turning back. He can see the outline of Jaebum’s shoulders dimly, the way he squints down at him. “Didn’t mean to keep you up.”

He’s not expecting the extended arm, or the fingertips that brush over the bridge of his nose. “C’mere,” Jaebum says. “You sleep better with someone else, right?” Jaebum’s hand finds his wrist and tugs, and Jackson lets him, climbing up to fit himself into the tiny dorm room bed with Jaebum. 

It’s not ideal, that’s for sure, but there’s something calming about being tucked underneath Jaebum arm, feeling his heartbeat against his chest. “This is cozy,” he says, and Jaebum snorts, digging his fingers into Jackson’s side.

“Don’t play coy,” he says. “We both know that you live for a good cuddle.”

He is not wrong. Jackson loves being affectionate, and it certainly doesn’t hurt when it’s Jaebum of all people, either. “Shut up,” he grumbles, hiding his face against Jaebum’s chest. “Let me sleep.”

Jaebum drags the blanket up and over them. “Gladly,” he says, settling his cheek against Jackson’s head. Jackson can feel him smile.

It’s way too hot to sleep pressed up against Jaebum like that, but he gets a full night’s sleep for the first time in ages, and waking up to Jaebum’s sleepy smile? That’s just a bonus.

He doesn’t hear the door slam once, either.


	12. Miss A, Jia/Fei

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for mel ♥
> 
> prompt: 'miss a, fei/jia hq au'

Jia rolls her shoulders, stretching out her arms. It’s the first practice match of the season, and she’s really looking forward to it. It’s not like she or the team have been slacking off or anything, but there’s a difference between running drills for days and actually getting to compete against someone. Jia thrives on that competition, on that action, and it’s been ages since she’s gotten any of it.

“Have you seen their captain?” Min asks, pushing on her headband. “She looks really intense.” She pulls an intense face, making Jia laugh. “You better keep your eye on that one.”

“Way ahead of you,” Jia says, and she turns to look over at the team on the other side of the net. The captain is half of the reason that Jia had pushed for this practice match. Wang Feifei is a strong setter, one who has lead her team from the middle of the pack to the lead. The growth that her team has experienced since Wang joined two years ago is impressive. Impressive, but not that impressive. Jia can’t wait to beat them. “This is gonna be good.”

It doesn’t hurt that Wang looks the part, too. She leads her team through their warm-up with a strong voice, and she doesn’t stint on the praise, either. With her hair swept up behind her and her hands planted on her hips, she strikes an intimidating pose.

Or she would, if Jia were so easily intimidated. 

Their coach claps his hands for their attention, and Jia pushes her bangs out of her face. “Come on, girls, let’s go!” he calls, and Min holds her hand out for a high five.

“Not so tough,” she says, and she grins. Behind them, Hyoyeon is already at the net, leaping up for a serve. She spikes it down with a yell and a satisfying smack, and Jia can’t help but be pleased with the way the other team pauses to watch. Yeah, that’s right. You better stare.

After a second, Wang’s gaze shifts away from Hyoyeon to Jia, her eyebrows quirked up. It feels a whole lot like a challenge. Jia raises her chin and smiles. She’s up for it.

 

 

The referee blows the whistle signalling the end of the first set, and Jia exhales, sweeping her ponytail back over her shoulder. She’s breathing hard, sweat prickling at her hairline, and she feels fantastic. They clobbered that set, but the other team gave them a run for it. 

Jia’s done her research, and she’d known that Wang was a good captain, but she somehow hadn’t expected she’d be such a good setter. The star of their team is definitely that first year, Bae Suji, with her showy spikes, but Wang had proven to have a very good sense of timing and placement, and her serves were a pain in the ass. Jia’s got to respect that.

Min, on the other hand. “Boom!” she crows, raising her arms up in victory. Hyoyeon laughs as Min wiggles around in a victory dance. “That’s just a preview.”

Across the net, Wang’s mouth twists up, half amused, half unimpressed. It’s funny, that even after an entire set, both sides working hard, Wang still looks good. Her skin looks dewy, not sweaty, a perfect tendril of her hair falling out of her bun. She’s kind of beautiful. Wang turns to look at Jia again, and Jia can’t help but like the attention. She offers Wang a smile and a cocky tilt of her chin. She always did like a challenge.

The irritation in Wang’s expression fades, and she nods at Jia, her eyebrows quirking up. It seems like she’s not the only one, either.

The ref blows his whistle again, and Jia takes a moment to stretch, pulling her arms up and over her head, and then back. Alright, it’s a little shameless, but she likes the way that Wang’s eyes track the motion, narrowing a little, thoughtful.

No time for that, though. Jia’s got a game to play. Wang can serve, that much is obvious. But Jia is her own team’s ace. It’s about time that she turns up the pressure.

And thinking about how pretty Wang is? That can wait until after they kick some ass.

 

 

So, it doesn’t go completely as planned. Jia’s team plays hard, but in the end, Wang’s team gathers steam and takes both of the final sets. It’s a fight, though, and when the final whistle blows, Jia sighs and leans over, hands against her knees, chest heaving. Wang’s team is good. Jia’s bangs are plastered to her forehead with sweat and she grimaces, swiping fruitlessly at them. 

It was just a practice match, of course, and Jia likes to think she’s not such a poor loser that this would break her enthusiasm for her last year with the team. Still, every defeat is a bit disheartening, and no one likes to start the year with a loss. 

She’s prepared to head back to their bench to mope for a moment, when Wang walks up. “Good game,” she says, and it doesn’t sound like a nicety. It sounds like it’s genuine. 

Jia straightens up and holds her hand out for a high five. “You too,” she says, and she shrugs a shoulder, smiling a bit ruefully. “I guess I underestimated you guys.”

“Well,” Wang says, twisting the lid off her water, “that can work to our advantage, sometimes.” She tips her head back to take a sip, and Jia takes a moment to enjoy her profile. “You’re a incredible spiker. You made some beautiful moves in that first set. I was impressed.”

Jia’s a very confident person, but even she can’t help but colour under that praise. “You’re not so bad yourself, you know,” she says. “Those floating serves of yours are a complete headache. Brutal.”

“Thanks, I think,” Wang laughs. She presses a hand against Jia’s elbow. “You know, we should train sometime. I think we’d work well together.”

Jia blinks at her. Technically speaking, she probably shouldn’t even be getting too friendly with someone on another team, especially one in their district, one that just beat them neatly, and one that can easily boot them out of the running for Inter Highs. But today’s game with Wang and her team pushed Jia more than she’s felt in months, it makes her think that maybe, this is something worth looking into. “That sounds like fun,” she says, and Wang smiles at her, bright and happy. “I guess I’ll need your number, then.”

She likes the way that Wang’s eyes narrow again, contemplative. “I suppose you will,” she says.

Maybe Jia’s team lost today’s match, but she’s definitely gained something, that’s for sure. She’s looking forward to this practice, now.


	13. GOT7, JB/Jackson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for anon ♥
> 
> this is straight up shameless jackbum a/b/o porn don't look at me

“So,” Jinyoung says, leaning back in his chair, eyes wide, “you’re telling me that you’ve never taken a knot before?”

Jackson frowns at him. He’s not sure he likes that tone. “The, uh, opportunity has never come up?” Jackson shrugs. “Listen, man, I don’t need your concern. I have a perfectly healthy sex life.” He leers good-naturedly. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you about that.”

Jinyoung holds up a finger. “First of all, ew. Our walls are too thin.” Jaebum sits down next to Jinyoung, handing him a beer. He’s handsome as ever, which is annoying, and he’s wearing these awful fake round frames that make him look like a sexy grandpa. It shouldn’t work. It does. Jackson’s upset by it. It’s hard to focus when one of your closest friends is so uncomfortably attractive. “Second of all, I can’t believe that you of all people would be the last one to try it out.” Jinyoung, of course, is an old pro with these things. He and Mark are practically married, which is gross.

Jackson needs to stop talking up how adventurous he is in bed. It leads to weird false expectations when he tells his friends everything. “I’m not against it,” he protests, and he only turns red when he glances at Jaebum and sees that he’s laughing. That’s not fair. He’s got nothing to be ashamed of! “I just haven’t hooked up with a ton of alphas, that’s all.”

“You’re missing out,” Jaebum says, and Jackson raises an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. Jackson’s got a bit of a reputation on campus, not a bad one, just an...enthusiastic one. Not a lot of betas get around like he does. But Jaebum’s got a reputation too. Big alpha on campus. And Jackson might be interested in that. 

“You offering?” Jackson asks, half-seriously. He definitely wouldn’t mind it.

Jaebum shrugs a shoulder and Jinyoung stares at him, looking faintly nauseated. “I’ve got my rut in a few weeks. I haven’t made arrangements for company yet.” He raises an eyebrow in question and a shiver sparks down Jackson’s spine. Wow. Is this actually happening? _Wow_.

Jinyoung stands in a rush, pointing down at them both. “Gross,” he says. “This is gross. I want no part in this.” He shakes his head and clucks his tongue disapprovingly. “Get a room.”

“You started it,” Jackson calls after him, laughing a little. 

When he turns back, Jaebum’s gaze on him is heavy, promising. “Let me know,” he says finally, and he raises his bottle to his mouth. “If you feel like expanding your horizons.”

Oh, Jackson does. He really, truly does. “Yeah, okay, I’ll do that.” He grins.

 

 

It’s all Jackson thinks about for the next week and a half. He and Jaebum don’t share any classes, and it’s getting into midterm season, so they’re both busy enough that they don’t get any chances to hang out. Sometimes, Jackson will see Jaebum in the hall, or across the quad, and they wave and nod. Each time, Jaebum’s eyes are so heavy on him. It’s driving Jackson _nuts_.

And then he gets the text. _ready? i’m at home_

Jackson stands up so fast his chair drags noisily against the floor, and the entire class turns to stare at him. “Is there a problem, Mr. Wang?” the professor asks, planting her hands on her hips and looking at him.

Right now, Jackson is profoundly glad he’s beta, and the whole arousal hormones thing isn’t nearly as obvious as alphas and omegas. “Uh, emergency?” he says. He scrambles to stuff all of his things into his bag. “Gotta go!”

He races to Jaebum’s place at a breakneck pace, and hammers against the door when he gets there. When there’s no immediate answer, he presses his forehead to the door. There’s no way Jaebum will open up for a stranger. “Hey, it’s me,” he calls, knocking again. “Let me in.”

There’s no warning before the door is yanked open and Jackson stumbles in, nearly falls on his face. Jaebum already looks wrecked, rushing to close the door before much of his scent leaks out. It’s everywhere, overpowering, and Jackson can already feel it going to work on him, feeling overheated and hot under the collar. “Whoa,” Jackson says, taking in Jaebum’s flushed cheeks, his short breath. He looks good, like this. “You waiting long?”

“Too long,” Jaebum says, and he grabs Jackson’s hips, pulling him forward and burying his face in Jackson’s throat, inhaling deeply. 

Jackson’s helped a couple of omegas through their heats, but this is something different. Omegas can be pushy, but they get softer, more pliant. Jaebum is nothing but demanding, backing him up against the wall and kissing the breath right out of him. He’s already pulling hastily at Jackson’s clothes, wrestling with his jacket. “Easy,” Jackson says, trying to wiggle free, if only for a moment. “I haven’t even gotten my shoes off, man.”

“Don’t wanna wait,” Jaebum mutters. His pupils are blown and he’s all that Jackson can smell now. It’s making that whole ‘get out of your clothes immediately’ plan _super_ appealing. He manages to kick off his boots and struggles out of his shirt before Jaebum is on him again, hands skating down his ribs to his hips. It’s obvious how hard he is, cock hot and insistent against Jackson’s thigh. “Jackson,” Jaebum says, so needy it’s almost a whine, and all Jackson wants to do is help. 

“I got you,” Jackson says, and then Jaebum kisses him again, messily making his way down to Jackson’s throat. The edge of his teeth on Jackson’s skin make Jackson sigh and grip Jaebum’s shirtfront. “Hey. Come on, quit distracting me. Bedroom. Let’s go.”

There’s no way Jaebum can even have gotten off once before Jackson showed up, because he’s so desperate for it. It takes a second for Jackson’s words to sink in before he speaks. “Yeah,” he says finally. “Yeah, bed, okay.”

He doesn’t stop touching Jackson the whole way there, like Jackson’s skin is the only thing keeping him anchored. As soon as they’re through the door, what little restraint he has snaps, and he practically throws Jackson onto the bed. “Whoa,” Jackson says, and then Jaebum is on top of him, pressing him down, caging him in. “Here. Lemme help, alright?”

It takes some persuading before Jackson can reverse their positions, pull Jaebum’s sweats down his thighs and settle between his knees. Jaebum’s _so_ hard, leaking sticky across his belly, and he keens the instant Jackson gets a hand around the base of his cock, arching up and hissing. It’s so _hot_ , how sensitive he is, how needy. Jackson strokes his cock slowly, watching Jaebum flinch each time, hips jerking up into Jackson’s hand. He doesn’t even mind the way that Jaebum digs his fingers into his shoulders, trying to urge him on. “Please,” Jaebum mutters, arching up and tossing his head. “Please, just, I need -”

“Yeah,” Jackson says, and he picks up the pace. This isn’t any time to tease. “Just hang on.” He bends down to lick a stripe up the underside of Jaebum’s dick and then Jaebum’s already coming, hard, all over Jackson’s knuckles and his cheek. He wipes at it futilely and grimaces. “Thanks, man.”

Jaebum’s eyes are clearer when he looks down at him. “You’re the one who got your mouth down there,” he says hoarsely. He’s still hard, but Jackson figures he can give him a break. They’re gonna have all night for this. “Didn’t know if you’d show.”

“Well.” Jackson shifts back on his heels, sucking idly on his fingers. “I’m looking forward to this whole new world thing you’ve got going on.” Jaebum struggles to sit up again, smiling crookedly. “So c’mon, man. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“Lube’s in the side drawer,” Jaebum says. He’s already shifting uncomfortably, fidgeting, but that’s not surprising. Orgasms in rut don’t give much relief without knotting. 

Jackson opens the side drawer to find not one but _four_ bottles of lube. “Jeez, boy scout, you preparing for the apocalypse?” He grabs one and hefts it, sliding back to his place between Jaebum’s legs.

“Trust me,” Jaebum says. “You’re going to want it really wet.” The way he’s smiling at Jackson is making him squirm a little, just thinking about it. “You’re not generally equipped for this sort of thing.” He holds out his hand for the bottle, and his fingers tremble.

“No,” Jackson says immediately. “Dude, no offense, but I don’t really trust you to do a whole lot right now.” He pops the lid, gets his fingers nice and slick. “Lemme handle this. This isn’t my first rodeo. You just sit back and watch.”

Jaebum’s eyes are getting hazy again, and he flinches when he reaches for his own dick. “Are you trying to torture me?” he says, and there’s enough edge to his voice that Jackson can tell that he means it. This rut thing is no joke. Jaebum licks his lips. “Don’t rush it. You don’t want to skip any steps.”

Jackson shifts up on his knees, reaching behind himself. “I got it,” he says, voice a little strained as he pushes the first finger in. “Don’t worry about me.” He doesn’t do this all that often, but it’s just like riding a bicycle. 

By the time he’s working three fingers into himself, Jackson is half-hard, breath short. Jaebum is right there, one hand on Jackson’s thigh, pushing him back so he can watch greedily. “Let me help,” he mumbles, leaning over Jackson to kiss him. “I know what I’m doing.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Jackson agrees and pulls his fingers out, and Jaebum surges forward, knocking him back again. Jackson laughs at how eager he is until Jaebum’s stretching him open, precise, unyielding, calculated. “Oh my God,” Jackson gasps, and Jaebum curls his fingers up mercilessly. 

“You want to be relaxed,” Jaebum tells him, pressing up against his prostate again. “You need to be relaxed for this to work.” Jaebum reaches for more lube and his hands shake, but then he’s working four fingers into Jackson and mouthing at his shoulder.

The stretch is almost too much, treading that fine line between pleasure and pain, but Jackson works his hips down against Jaebum’s hand, searching for that burn. “Can’t relax,” he grits out, and Jaebum’s teeth find his throat again as he fucks him deeper, stretches him open. “Not when I want this so bad.”

“You ready?” Jaebum asks, and he’s trembling with how much he needs it. Jackson would spare a moment to be impressed by his restraint, but his cock is so hard it aches now, and he wants this. Jaebum’s staring at him, eyes fixed on his face, waiting.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s do this,” Jackson says. He’s more than ready to get this show on the road. 

They maneuver so that Jackson is in Jaebum’s lap, arms around his shoulders. Jaebum reaches underneath them and Jackson can feel the drag of the head of his cock against his hole. Jaebum kisses him again, mouth sweet, and Jackson drops his weight down. 

After all the stretching they’ve done, Jaebum slides in easily, slick and wet. Jackson makes a pleased noise against Jaebum’s mouth, pulling him in close. He feels so good inside him, so thick and hot, and it only takes Jackson a minute to adjust. He can feel the way that Jaebum’s heart is hammering in his chest, his fingers so tight on Jackson’s hips. “Alright,” he says again, anchoring one hand around the back of Jaebum’s neck and lifting up again, only to sink down again. “Don’t hold back. I know you need it.”

The words are barely out of his mouth when Jackson is flipped onto his back, his legs hiked up as Jaebum fucks into him hard and fast. Jackson has to reach up and press back against the headboard and hold on for dear life. Each thrust sends hot sparks of pleasure up Jackson’s spine, forces a helpless noise out of his throat. Even if this whole experiment doesn’t change his life, it’s already well worth it. 

It takes a moment, but Jackson starts to feel it. Jaebum’s dick is getting thicker, and Jackson can feel the drag of it every time. “‘M gonna…” Jaebum trails off, burying his face in the crook of Jackson’s neck, his hips speeding up. 

With each stroke in, Jaebum’s rising knot presses tantalizingly against Jackson’s prostate. Jackson rolls his hips up eagerly, one hand sneaking down to jerk his cock in time. Jackson’s had his fair share of dick, but this is something else. As it grows, the stretch intensifies, giving him a jolt of electricity each time it catches on Jackson’s rim. Jackson gasps, clenching down without thinking as his dick kicks in his hand. Jackson’s eyes slide shut and he fights for breath, nearly sobbing. It feels so _good_. “Jaebum,” he groans.

One last thrust, and Jaebum’s caught, tied in deep. Jaebum folds Jackson up even further, grinding his hips down, and Jackson’s vision goes white when he comes, his whole body tensing up with pleasure. 

When he comes back to himself, there’s a mess of come on his belly and he’s got one hand tight in Jaebum’s hair. Jaebum has stilled, and that has to be taking a superhuman level of restraint. “Holy shit,” Jackson says weakly. 

“Told you,” Jaebum says, but his voice sounds garbled against Jackson’s skin. He’s still so big and hot inside Jackson and it’s so intense so soon, even if Jackson’s cock is giving a valiant effort to harden once again. 

But it’s not all about him. Jackson digs his heels into Jaebum’s ass and urges him forward. “C’mon,” he says, even though each time Jaebum’s knot jostles against his prostate it makes him hiss. “C’mon, keep going.”

Jaebum doesn’t need to be asked twice. He rolls his hips in deep, pressing Jackson down and pinning him to the mattress. It only takes a few strokes before he comes, and Jackson can feel his cock jerk inside him. His face flushes at the rush of heat and come. Jaebum goes limp on top of him, shivering and making tiny sounds against Jackson’s skin each time his cock pulses with another round. “How’re you doing?” Jackson asks after a moment, petting his hair.

Jaebum groans and shifts, his knot pulling at Jackson’s rim and making him flinch. “Mmmmm,” he says finally, turning to look at Jackson. His eyes are clearer than Jackson’s seen all day. “Pretty good.”

“Same here,” Jackson admits. He’s restless, feels too full with Jaebum still deep inside him, but’s a good kind of pressure. “I gotta admit, you were not wrong about that whole knotting thing.” He feels so thoroughly used, he’s not sure he wants to get up ever again. “Game changer.”

Jaebum strokes Jackson’s belly, yawning. “Don’t get too complacent,” he says, rolling his hips up experimentally. His knot has gone down a little, but his cock is still hard. One round is clearly not going to be enough. “Give me another couple of minutes and we’ll see just how good it can get.”

Jackson flexes his muscles around Jaebum’s cock, making him groan. “I look forward to it,” he says, and he grins.


	14. GOT7, JB/Jackson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for jenny ♥
> 
> shameless thigh worship porn OOPS

He never should’ve agreed to this. “Jaebum,” Jackson groans, pulling hard at his wrists. They’re caught, though, bound to the bedposts, and it’d seemed like a good idea at the time, except now he can’t do anything. He’s breathless already, and they’ve barely even started. “C’mon, man.”

“I’m going to take my time,” Jaebum says, voice low and gravelly in that way that sends shivers down Jackson’s spine. It’s the first time they’ve had a moment to themselves in weeks, between work and classes, and Jackson had figured that yeah, he’d get laid, but nothing like this. Jackson hadn’t even gotten a chance to put on clothes after his shower before he’d pulled Jackson down onto their bed and made himself comfortable between his legs. 

And Jackson loves it when Jaebum pushes him around. He just wishes he could take part. “You’re gonna drive me up the wall,” Jackson grumbles, but he goes pliant when Jaebum strokes a hand down the crease of his hip. His touch sends goosebumps down Jackson’s spine, and it’s only amplified by the fact that Jackson can’t _do_ anything about it. “ _Jaebum_.”

“Relax,” Jaebum says, and Jackson catches the hint of a smile before Jaebum is leaning down to mouth wetly at his belly. It’s agonizing, the heat of his breath against Jackson’s half-hard cock and the dull edge of Jaebum’s teeth. “Let me look after you.” 

Jaebum slides his thumbs up the insides of Jackson’s thighs, and Jackson shakes, his knees automatically coming up to bracket Jaebum’s hips. He’s never really done the whole bondage deal, honestly, and that’s got a lot to do with how hands-on Jackson likes to be. Jackson likes to participate. He likes to make someone else feel good. This is kind of maddening, but in a good way. He whines, shifting his hips up, seeking a bit of friction, but Jaebum just laughs, holding him down. “Relax,” he says again.

Like that’s so easy when Jaebum’s pushing his thighs up against his belly, leaving a line of biting kisses down the backs of his leg. It’s no secret that Jaebum likes the way that Jackson’s built, the thickness of his thighs, but he’s really going above and beyond today. Jackson watches him through half-lidded eyes as he patiently and deliberately sucks a dark mark into Jackson’s skin. Jackson’s teeth dig into his lip and his cock jerks against his belly. He loves it when Jaebum marks him up, leaves him something to remember by the next day. “Goddamn,” Jackson sighs, and Jaebum laughs, thumbs pressing into the backs of Jackson’s knees.

Jaebum lets his legs go, and Jackson settles them on Jaebum’s shoulders. “Are you gonna suck my dick any time soon?” he asks, mustering the best nonchalance he can when his cock is leaking precome all over his bellybutton and his thighs are shaking with need. Jaebum’s touch is setting him on fire, and the lack of control is just making it worse. He can only watch helplessly, jolting when Jaebum trails his nails down his thighs, from the crease of his ass back to his knees. Jaebum looks so pleased with himself, leaning in just close enough that Jackson’s dick drags against the soft skin of his cheek, tantalizing and not nearly enough friction. “Fuck, you’re _killing_ me.” 

“Can’t I just appreciate you?” Jaebum asks, and when he twists to press a kiss to Jackson’s thigh, there’s enough affection that Jackson forgets about how badly he wants Jaebum to touch his dick, at least for a moment. He’s never met anyone like Jaebum, someone who likes to take his time, and his focus and warmth is almost overwhelming, sometimes. It’s not like Jackson doesn’t think he’s attractive, but Jaebum looks at him sometimes like he’s the centre of his world, and it makes Jackson absolutely melt. “Let me take my time,” Jaebum says, and he flattens his hand against Jackson’s belly, grinning at the way that his muscles jump under the touch.

Jackson groans, but Jaebum ignores him, smoothing his fingers up Jackson’s thighs again. His touch is sure but delicate, light enough to make Jackson twitch and hiss, almost ticklish. He’s so hyperaware of Jaebum, the way he presses his mouth to his skin and sucks another mark into his other thigh, almost all the way down where his leg meets his ass. Jackson’s cock is so hard it’s aching now, and Jaebum’s barely even touched it. He arches up restlessly, chest tight. “I love you,” Jackson says, voice strangled, “but if you don’t put your mouth on my dick right now, I think I might die.”

“Hmm,” Jaebum says, eyes dancing with amusement, but before Jackson can protest again, he’s got his hand around the base of Jackson’s cock and swallows him down. Jackson gasps, hips jerking up despite himself, mindless with the heat and pleasure of Jaebum’s mouth. Jaebum doesn’t always suck him off, he’s got clever fingers and Jackson’s kind of always preferred to get fucked in the end, so this is a nice novelty. “How’s that?” Jaebum asks, resting his cheek against Jackson’s thigh and stroking his dick, nice and tight and far too slow. His lips are already red with the effort, and Jackson’s cock kicks in his hand at the sight. This is too much.

“Not bad,” Jackson manages, voice weak. His heels are locked together against Jaebum’s back, and he has to physically fight back the urge to fuck up against Jaebum’s grip. “I mean, you could use some practice - _fuck_.” Jaebum doesn’t pull his punches when he sucks Jackson’s cock. He knows just how Jackson likes it, hot and wet and tight, and Jackson’s so distracted by the slick press of Jaebum’s tongue that he doesn’t even realize what Jaebum’s doing with his hands until he’s got two fingers sliding into his ass, fast and steady. All he can do is grip the ties around his wrists and hang on for dear life.

Jaebum fucks him nice and easy with his fingers, stretching him open in tandem with the bob of his mouth. Saliva drips down between Jackson’s legs and it takes him a moment to realize that the noises he’s hearing are coming from _him_ \- the slick, dirty noise of Jaebum’s fingers in his ass and each sobbing inhale of his breath, helpless and loud. “Love it when you get noisy,” Jaebum says, and Jackson whines at the new, rough edge to his voice. _He_ did that. “Don’t hold back. Not with me.”

Jackson comes gasping Jaebum’s name, three fingers stroking persistently up against his prostate and his entire body bowed with pleasure. He makes a soft noise of complaint when Jaebum pulls out, but he’s got no protests when Jaebum crawls up his body to sit on his chest, pulling his cock out. Jackson watches, fucked-out and sleepy, as Jaebum jerks off over him. Eyes hungry, Jaebum presses his thumb into Jackson’s slack mouth, groaning as Jackson mouths at it, and his hand speeds up. Jackson only manages to tear his eyes away from Jaebum’s flushed face when he starts to come, stripes landing across the bridge of Jackson’s nose and the open part of his lips, sticking in his eyebrows. It’s kind of gross, except for the shudder of Jaebum’s breath above him and the delicate way he cleans him up, with his fingers and his tongue. 

“There,” Jaebum says after a moment, and Jackson opens his eyes again. Jaebum is looking down at him, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his cheeks pink with exertion. “How’s that for a good morning?”

“I can’t move,” Jackson says, “for the rest of my life.” He lifts his wrists, still tied to the headboard. “Plus these,” he adds.

Jaebum loosens the ties and takes each of Jackson’s hands into his in turn, rubbing at the red, chafed skin at his wrists. Jackson doesn’t really need to be coddled, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t revel in it. He pulls Jaebum down and maneuvers him into the wet spot on the mattress. “Mmmm,” he says, and he tucks his head underneath Jaebum’s chin. “Cancel today. I think I need a nap.”

“It’s not even noon,” Jaebum laughs, but Jackson silences him with a kiss. They have errands left to do, things to get done on their day off, but right now, Jackson thinks they’ve earned a bit more sleep. Or, at least, he has, anyway.


	15. Haikyuu!!, Daichi/Sugawara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for pipit ♥
> 
> prompt: 'daisuga sharing clothes???' 
> 
> note: suga is agender in this fic and uses neutral pronouns

It takes Daichi a while to realize that his clothing is slowly disappearing. It hadn’t struck him as odd when he’d found his drawers a bit empty when he was looking for something to wear in the morning (it’d been a while since he’d done laundry, anyway), but that changes when he realizes he’s missing nearly every pair of pajama pants he owns, and half his sweaters too. He’s got practice in fifteen minutes and he can’t find his favourite hoodie anywhere. Frowning, he digs around underneath his bed, but only comes up with one lost sock. “Koushi,” he calls, sniffing the sock. He recoils. That is rank. “Koushi, have you seen my blue sweatshirt?”

When Koushi doesn’t immediately respond, Daichi blinks at the empty doorway for a moment. “Strange,” he mutters, throwing the sock in his dirty laundry and climbing to his feet. 

He’s about to go hunt them down when Koushi pokes their head around the corner. Their hair is ruffled, sticking up at odd angles, and they look a little out of breath. “I haven’t seen it,” Koushi says, smoothing a hand down the front of their shirt. It’s odd to see them flustered. “Maybe you left it at Asahi’s?”

“I suppose,” Daichi says slowly. He thinks he’d remember that, though. He settles on one of the only sweatshirts he could dig up, old and threadbare from years of wear. It’ll have to do, until he settles the problem of the missing wardrobe. “I feel like half of my clothes have taken a walk. I can’t even find some of my old warm-up gear from Karasuno.” He’s supposed to be a grown-up now that he’s in university and moved out, but somehow, he’s still wearing the same clothes.

“Sounds like a mystery indeed,” Koushi says, and this time a faint smile plays on their lips. Daichi raises an eyebrow. There’s something they’re not telling him. “But it’ll have to wait until after practice, Sherlock.” They step in and curl their fingers around Daichi’s wrist, tugging him forward. “You don’t want to be late, do you?”

Daichi knows he’s being lead away from the question at hand, but he decides to let it slide. Koushi’s right, after all. He can’t miss practice. “I guess I’ll have to save my hunt for clues for later,” he agrees, and he lets Koushi lead him to the door, one hand pressed to the small of his back. “Do you have your bag?”

“I think you’re the one who has to worry about forgetting things, don’t you?” Daichi turns to lock the door behind them, and Koushi shoulders their bag. “If you keep losing your clothes.”

There’s something sly about the way that they’re smiling at Daichi. “You sound like you know something,” Daichi says suspiciously, falling into step with them. “Don’t think I’m going to just let this drop.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Koushi’s knuckles brush up against the back of Daichi’s hand, and Daichi slides his hand into Koushi’s, the gesture immediate and automatic. “I’d never underestimate you.”

“Somehow,” Daichi says dryly, “I don’t think you’re being sincere.”

Smiling, Koushi hums and rubs their thumb up against Daichi’s. “I’m always sincere,” they say easily. Daichi shakes his head and laughs, pulling at the worn-out collar of his sweatshirt, squeezing Koushi’s hand just a little bit tighter.

 

 

“Ah, Asahi.” He looks up as Daichi settles into the seat beside him, eyes half-lidded and sleepy. It’s harder to get together these days, now that they attend different schools, so they make due with the time they have. It’s just Daichi meeting up with Shimizu and Asahi this morning, though, Koushi’s got a paper to work on. “I’ve been meaning to ask, have you seen my blue sweatshirt? I thought I might have left it at your place after dinner last week.”

Shimizu slides a coffee over in front of Daichi and he nods at her gratefully. “I don’t think so,” Asahi frowns. “Did you call the restaurant? Maybe it’s there.” He still wears his hair long, and it’s still funny, the disconnect between how he’s perceived and how he really is. Asahi waves the waitress over and asks for more cream for his coffee and Daichi has to hide his smile at the way she eyes him nervously. “Or maybe Sugawara knows.”

“They’re playing coy,” Daichi says with a sigh, shrugging and shaking his head a little. Since he’d brought it up, Koushi has done their level best to dodge all of his questions. They’re good at that, unfortunately so. They’ve never hesitated to use Daichi’s fondness of them against him. “So they’re no use.”

“Hmm,” Shimizu says, pushing her hair behind her ear. Her smile has an uncanny similarity to the one that Koushi gets whenever Daichi tries to get a hint about his sweaters. “I think that they probably have a pretty good idea of where it is.”

The plot thickens. “You know something?” he asks, leaning over the table. Shimizu just lifts her coffee to her lips, eyes unreadable over her mug. “Ah, what is this? I feel like everyone is keeping secrets from me.” 

He looks over at Asahi, but he’s no help. He just lifts his shoulders, eyes wide. “Not me,” Asahi says hastily, holding up his hands. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

Not that that’s saying much, Daichi thinks, covering his little grin with the back of his hand. “I guess I’ll just have to try to talk to Koushi again,” he says, and Shimizu gives him a tiny nod, looking amused. He doesn’t feel very enlightened, but no matter how he pleads with his eyes, Shimizu determinedly ignores him. It’s like a conspiracy against him. “No hints? Really?” 

Shimizu clucks gently and taps her finger against his menu, reminding him to order. “Maybe you should look a little harder,” she says.

At least, he supposes, he’s still got Asahi. Asahi who is rambling on about his teaching classes, and his placement, fiddling with the sugar packets while he talks about his lesson plans. It’s all very charming, but he’s got no idea what’s happening to his clothing.

Well. He’s starting to have an inking.

 

 

It turns out that he doesn’t have to ask about anything, in the end. His lit class is cancelled and Daichi comes home early, thinking maybe he’ll pick something up for dinner on the way home. He sets the takeout down on the counter, tosses aside his backpack, and comes face to face with Koushi. They’re curled up on the couch with a textbook in his lap, a highlighter between their teeth, and Daichi’s blue hoodie over their shoulders. “You!” Daichi exclaims.

Koushi marks their spot before they close their textbook, and when they look up, their smile is fond. “It took you long enough,” they say. They pluck at the front of the sweatshirt. “Cozy, don’t you think?”

Daichi laughs. “I’m starting to forget,” he says, “since it’s been so long since I got to wear it.” He’s got to admit, he doesn’t mind the way it fits Koushi, just a little bit too big, hanging a little too low over their chest. “Were you just starting a collection?”

“Something like that.” Koushi holds out their hands and Daichi takes them, folding one leg under himself as he settles down next to Koushi. “Maybe I just like your clothes better than mine.”

There’s something about the faint flush on Koushi’s cheeks that stirs something warm in Daichi’s belly. “You could’ve just asked,” he says, voice low, and he leans in.

Koushi meets him without hesitation, one hand flat against Daichi’s chest as they kiss him, slow, familiar, easy. “Where’s the fun in that?” they ask, and Daichi just laughs and pulls them in even closer.


	16. Kuroko No Basuke, Hyuuga/Kiyoshi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for my annie ♥
> 
> prompt: hospital room kisses

Junpei nods at the nurse as he passes her station, backpack over his shoulder and takeout in his hands. He’s late today, practice ran late, and he knows he doesn’t have a lot of time before visiting hours are over. Can’t be helped, he supposes. Besides, he had to take time to grab something to eat before he came.

Kiyoshi looks up as he walks through the door. “You don’t have to come every day, you know,” he says, that broad, friendly smile spreading across his lips as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. “You’ve got lots of things to do, I get it.”

“Shut up,” Junpei says briskly, dumping off his bag and pulling a chair towards the bed. “I know how to manage my time.” He sits down and starts pulling out the takeout containers, laying them out neatly on the sheets at the end of Kiyoshi’s bed. It’s been a week since the game with Kirisaki Daichi, and he hasn’t said anything, but Junpei knows that he’s starting to get bored and antsy. “Eat, or I will.”

Kiyoshi takes the proffered bowl. “Ah, real food,” he says cheerfully, like the take-out isn’t cheap and a bit greasy. “You’re a life-saver.” He dives in, scarfing down the food like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, and Junpei can see him wiggling his toes underneath the thin hospital sheets. He’ll never admit it, but it’s worth it, spending all of his money on delivery for Kiyoshi, if it makes him smile like that.

They eat in silence, which is just fine by Junpei, because he’s worn out from class and practice. Kiyoshi looks good, at least. Right after the game, even as he’d assured the team he was fine, it was just a sprain, Junpei could see the tight lines around his eyes and mouth, the disappointment and fear clear even with the fog of painkillers. 

It can’t be much easier now, though. Now, Kiyoshi’s stuck in here for weeks, if not months, and even if Junpei ferries his homework to him every day, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have all day to sit around and think. 

Junpei watches Kiyoshi carefully as he picks through the takeout containers, tipping his head back under his chopsticks for a bite. One more year together. It’s just like Kiyoshi to choose to hurt his knee even more, just so he can keep his promise to Junpei. Stubborn bastard. If they hadn’t already had this conversation already, Junpei might try to talk him out of it, but he’s not sure he could. Kiyoshi’s got strange ideas about the important things in life. Over his rice, Kiyoshi offers him another wide, genial smile, and Junpei returns it, reluctantly.

He’s not used to someone like Kiyoshi. There’s something kind of weighty about Kiyoshi’s gentle, firm insistence that winning, winning for _Junpei_ , that’s worth making an irreversible decision about his health. It makes his chest tight, in a way he isn’t quite sure is pleasant. Kiyoshi’s always had that effect on him, though. He has a way of pushing Junpei’s buttons and making him like it.

“I brought your schoolwork,” Junpei says, gesturing to his bag on the floor. “If you fail your classes, you can’t play on the team next year.”

“You’re so kind,” Kiyoshi tells him, just shy of sincere, and he makes no move to take the notes. He settles his big hands in his lap, the take-out container dwarfed by the span of his fingers. “Looking out for me like that.” He smiles at Junpei like he doesn’t know that Junpei hates this plan of his. It’s infuriating.

Junpei clicks his tongue but he doesn’t say anything. “You shouldn’t waste this time off,” he says gruffly. “I’ll bring you videos of our games, too. You can study the other teams, and plays. It’ll keep you sharp while you’re off.”

“Hyuuga,” Kiyoshi says.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Junpei’s voice is raising, getting rough. He clenches his hands against his knees and grits his teeth. 

“I know,” Kiyoshi says mildly. His brows crease, and he doesn’t flinch. He knows that it’s not him that Junpei is angry with. 

It’s that scumbag Hanamiya. Hanamiya with his sleezy little smile and his sleezy plans, and the fact that he could so carelessly, casually _ruin_ Kiyoshi’s knee. He hadn’t even wanted to _win_. Junpei wishes he could at least prove what Hanamiya had done, so then he could get back at him, get the tiniest bit of revenge on him for what he’s done. “Getting yourself injured in the middle of the season,” Junpei mutters. “Inconsiderate.”

“Hyuuga.”

“What?” Junpei turns to Kiyoshi and slowly unclenches his fingers. “You are.”

Kiyoshi reaches out for Junpei’s hand, flattening Junpei’s fingers so he can lace his own hand in Junpei’s. Junpei huffs and squeezes Kiyoshi’s hand. “Thank you for coming,” Kiyoshi says. “And thank you for coming in every day. It’s far for my grandparents, and, ah -” he shrugs, his smile almost apologetic, “- it gets lonely sometimes.”

“Whose fault is that?” Junpei says, and he tries not to think about how this is only the first week of many, that Kiyoshi will be here for a very long time while he relearns how to make his knee work. All he can do is hope to do is get in in that last hour before visiting hours are up, and he doesn’t really feel like it’s enough.

“Not yours,” Kiyoshi says, and that’s when he leans forward, kisses Junpei on the mouth. Junpei stiffens, and Kiyoshi strokes his thumb against his palm until he relaxes into it, tipping his head closer. There’s something about this that’s absolutely easy, effortless, almost inevitable. 

When he pulls away, his heart is beating a million miles an hour. “I don’t like you,” he says, a bit dazed.

“I know,” Kiyoshi says, smiling so fondly at Junpei that it makes his cheeks burn. He looks at Junpei like he knows something like Junpei doesn’t know, and Junpei can’t decide if he likes that.

Junpei spends a moment fumbling for something to say, trying to find his footing and slow his heartbeat. He hates that Kiyoshi can do this without even blinking, get Junpei so flustered that he can’t even speak. He hates that he finds that endearing, too.

Before he finds his voice, there’s a knock at the door. “Visiting hours are over, I’m afraid,” the nurse says kindly, and Junpei pulls his hand out of Kiyoshi’s, turning even redder. 

He stands, sliding the chair back into its place, pulling out Kiyoshi’s homework before he throws his bag over his shoulder. “You’d better get some sleep,” he tells Kiyoshi. “If you’re not better soon, you’ll have to quit the team.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” It’s not a statement, but a question, and there’s something hesitant in the way that Kiyoshi looks up at him, eyebrows raised.

Junpei clicks his tongue. “If I have time,” he says begrudgingly, like he hasn’t come in every day since Kiyoshi’s injury and like he hasn’t planned to bolt out of every practice as soon as he can, just so he can make it here. Kiyoshi lights up with an affectionate smile, and as Junpei heads out the door, he presses a hand to his heart, trying to will it to slow. He doesn’t have time for this nonsense.


	17. EXO, Kai/Chanyeol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for ang, my fav chankai trash
> 
> prompt: 'how about chanyeol avoiding the fuck out of jongin because of ~*~emotions~*~'

There are a lot a good things about Jongin’s job at the ski resort. He likes working in the kitchen, and the head chef is tiny, briskly efficient, and warm, at least with him. And Jongin is good at cooking, too. He likes the work and how easy it is to lose himself in the precision and rhythm of preparing dishes. 

There’s just one problem. 

At the end of the night, Jongin trails after Kyungsoo into the break room, covering a yawn with the back of his hand. His fingers are soft from washing dishes, and they smell like garlic, and he’s definitely ready to go home. Kyungsoo pushes open the door to reveal one of the ski instructors. Jongin’s never been formally introduced, but he’s pretty sure that his name is Chanyeol. He’s kinda cute. Jongin offers him a hesitant wave.

Chanyeol bolts up out of his chair so fast that it drags noisily across the floor. “Oh, would you look at the time,” he says, his cheeks pink and his voice too loud in the small room. He’s not looking at the clock or his phone or anything. Jongin’s a little confused. “Better get going!” He blusters out of the room, banging his bag off Jongin’s knee as he pushes past him through the door, and nearly drops his jacket. Jongin stares after him.

When he looks back, he finds Kyungsoo looking distinctly unimpressed. “Ignore him,” he says tartly, collecting the things that Chanyeol left strewn across the break room table and tucking them back inside the locker he’d left open. “He’s an idiot.”

“It’s okay,” Jongin says, although he’s a little bit hurt. Chanyeol had full-on run at the sight of him. That would hurt anyone’s feelings. He pulls off his stained apron and gets to work unbuttoning his whites, staring down at his fingers. 

Kyungsoo sighs, looking pained. “The two of you,” he says, shaking his head. “If he would ever stick around long enough to get to know you, you’d make a great pair.”

Jongin isn’t really sure what Kyungsoo is getting at, but he thinks that it might be nice. He’s seen Chanyeol around the resort, and he knows he’s the beginner instructor. He’s seen the way that Chanyeol folds his long body up in front of kids, holding their little mittened hands and soothing their fears, his eyes wide and sincere. It’s kind of cute. So is Chanyeol. “Sure, hyung,” Jongin says.

Neither of them are particularly talkative people, so they change in silence. “Get some sleep tonight, alright?” Kyungsoo asks as they pull on their jackets. “We’re heading into our busy weeks and you already look so tired.”

“Thanks,” Jongin says, hunching his shoulders a little and smiling at Kyungsoo. When he’d first met Kyungsoo, back when he was applying for the job, Kyungsoo had been so intimidating, despite his size. Lucky for Jongin, he also had a soft spot for shy, over-sized sous-chefs, too.

They head out to the front, where Jongin’s roommate is waiting for him, but Kyungsoo veers off, towards the parking lot. Just through the door, Jongin can see Chanyeol standing outside in the winter cold, a massive scarf pulled up to his nose, peering at his phone. So much for his rush. “Where are you going?” Jongin asks.

“I have to drive the idiot home,” Kyungsoo says with an air of distaste. 

Oh. Jongin looks over at Chanyeol again and they make eye contact for a moment. He wants to smile, but Chanyeol’s already tucked himself further into his scarf, hiding his gaze. “See you tomorrow,” he says instead, and tries not to feel too disappointed.

Kyungsoo squeezes his elbow. “You too,” he says. 

Jongin knows that Sehun is waiting, but he still watches Kyungsoo approach Chanyeol and slug him, his little fist jabbing hard into Chanyeol’s side. Jongin only feels a little bad about that.

 

 

It turns out that the whole running away thing is becoming kind of a habit for Chanyeol. Jongin’s not a particularly outgoing person, and he can take a while to warm up to people, to open up. That’s not to say that he doesn’t have any friends at the resort, but out of everyone, he wouldn’t have thought Chanyeol would be so hard to get along with. He’s the one who’s friends with _everyone_ , who greets everyone by name. Sometimes, Jongin will hear Chanyeol’s braying laughter down a hall, only to hear it silenced the moment his eyes fall on Jongin. It kind of sucks.

“Did I do something?” Jongin mutters to Kyungsoo one day, during a lull in service. Chanyeol had darted into the kitchen to grab himself something to eat on his break, and he had been sneaking past them at a crouch. He’d only stopped when he’d peered over the counter to find Jongin and Kyungsoo staring at him,.He’d recovered feebly, straightening abruptly, cheeks red, waving a hand and rambling about how he’d thought he’d seen something on his shoe. The instant he’d gotten his food, he’d vanished out the door again. Jongin’s been a little bit forlorn since then.

Kyungsoo barely looks up from where he’s tasting an entree. “No, of course not,” he says dismissively, handing off a plate to a runner. “You’re harmless.”

Jongin isn’t sure that’s particularly reassuring. “Why does he keep running away, then?” he asks. He frowns down at his hands for a moment before he realizes that he’s supposed to be dicing these tomatoes. 

“Because he’s an idiot,” Kyungsoo says, slamming his tongs down with a bang. “Do we have to have this conversation now? We just got in three tables and I would much prefer my sous chef focus on cooking his food rather than moping about why someone doesn’t like him.”

“Sorry,” Jongin says, ducking his head. 

Kyungsoo sighs. “No, don’t…” He closes his eyes, the back of one hand pressed to his forehead. “Focus on the task at hand, Jongin-ah. Don’t worry about Chanyeol.” He offers Jongin an encouraging smile, and then he’s all business again, flipping chicken in a pig with practiced ease.

“Okay,” Jongin says, although it’s not easy. It might be, maybe, if Chanyeol weren’t so _cute_ , and if Jongin didn’t want him to like him, a lot. It makes him feel small and invisible.

The kitchen is noisy, but the two of them stay silent, only talking to each other when they need to. As service begins to wind down, Kyungsoo wipes his hands neatly on a cloth at his waste and then taps Jongin’s elbow. “Wait for me in the break room,” he says, and his eyes narrow a little, in a way that Jongin can’t read. “I have an idea.”

Jongin’s learned a lot from Kyungsoo, and one of those things is not to argue with him. “We have a couple more tables,” he says, although it’s slow, and it’s nothing that Jongin and the rest of the staff can handle. 

“Nothing my sous chef can’t handle,” Kyungsoo says, and he nods. “Make sure you watch Baekhyun when he’s washing the dishes. If he’s not supervised, he’s liable to go hide in the equipment storage room and get high with Jongdae.”

Kyungsoo runs a very tight ship, and it’s the first time he’s given Jongin rein of the kitchen, even if it’s only for the very tail end of a slow night. It still feels nice. “Aye aye, captain,” Jongin says, and he even snaps off a quick salute. Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, smile fond, and then heads out of the kitchen.

With the new responsibility on his shoulders, Jongin doesn’t really think about Chanyeol at all. Well, mostly.

 

 

In the break room, after service, it’s not Kyungsoo who walks in as Jongin’s pulling his apron off. It’s Chanyeol. Before Chanyeol can retreat, though, the door slams shut behind him. “If you’re going to behave like a child,” Kyungsoo says through the door, voice sharp, “then I’ll treat you like one.”

Chanyeol has his hands flat against the door, shoulders drooping. “This is silly,” he says, and it always surprises Jongin, how low his voice is. “Kyungsoo. Come on.”

“Sort it out, Park.” 

There’s the distinct sound of Kyungsoo’s retreating footsteps, and then it’s just the two of them, alone in the room. Jongin toys with the cuffs of his jacket. “This is uncomfortable,” he says, and he laughs a little. He should probably change into his regular clothes, but the thought of taking his clothes off in front of Chanyeol kind of makes him flush.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol says. He’s looking everywhere but at Jongin, almost wringing his hands. It takes Jongin a minute to see the blush creeping up Chanyeol’s throat, turning his face a cute pink. “Sorry about this.”

“No, I mean, it’s kinda nice,” Jongin says. Chanyeol’s chin jerks up at that, brows creasing into confusion. The sudden weight of his eyes makes Jongin shift his weight from foot to foot, ducking his head. “We’ve never gotten a chance to talk before.” _Since you always run away_ , he doesn’t say.

Chanyeol turns even redder. “That’s my fault,” he admits, shrugging a shoulder. It’s not like Jongin’s going to argue, not when Chanyeol had been doing everything except leaping out of a window to avoid him. “I don’t hate you or anything.”

“Okay,” Jongin says.

“You’re just so _cute_ ,” Chanyeol says, fast and too loud, and Jongin’s eyes get big and his mouth drops open. “Oh my God,” Chanyeol says, clapping a hand over his mouth. He’s almost wailing in dismay, red to the tips of his sticky-out ears. “No. I didn’t say that. Pretend I didn’t say that.”

Chanyeol thinks he’s cute. He’s been avoiding him because he thinks he’s _cute_. Jongin bites his lip. “Really?” he asks.

Chanyeol hesitates, confusion written all over his face. “Like, should you really pretend I didn’t say it?” He’s started to pace around the room nervously, long arms and big hands waving everywhere. “Because yes, you definitely should, it was unprofessional and I never should’ve said anything at all.”

Jongin’s fairly certain that crawling on the floor in the kitchen so that someone doesn’t see him probably counts as more unprofessional, but he decides not to mention that. “You really think I’m cute?” he asks softly.

It catches Chanyeol unaware, and he stops, mid-stride. He hesitates, mouth working, before he answers. “Yes?” he says hesitantly.

Jongin tries to hide his smile behind his hand. “Cool,” he says, and he bounces a little on the balls of his feet.

Chanyeol’s grin, when Jongin finally sees it directed at him, is full-watt and nearly blinding. “Yeah?” he says, and his shoulders loosen, his hands finally stilling. “Cool?”

That smile is so infectious. “Yeah,” Jongin says. “Cool.”

The door cracks open, and Kyungsoo sticks his head in. “Are you done?” he asks wearily. “I want to go home, I don’t have time to mediate a couple of teenage lovebirds.”

“I’m older than you are,” Chanyeol points out, but his spirit is entirely undampened by Kyungsoo’s impatience. He keeps sneaking these long looks at Jongin out of the corner of his eye, giving him these little smiles like they share a secret, now. 

“I think we’re done,” Jongin says. “I just need to change.” He gestures vaguely at his chef’s whites and then back at his locker.

“Good.” Kyungsoo looks at Chanyeol, raising an eyebrow pointedly. “And you’d better get your things, too. I’m not going to wait for you forever.” 

When he’s gone again, off to start the car and warm it up, Chanyeol turns to Jongin. “Uh, so, maybe, we could swap phone numbers?” he suggests, and Jongin’s cheeks warm all over again. 

“I’d like that,” Jongin says, and he laughs into his hand when Chanyeol almost throws his phone at him in his haste to get it out of his pocket. This has turned out a lot better than he’d thought it would.


	18. Haikyuu!!, Oikawa/Iwaizumi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for anon ♥
> 
> you only left me some pairings, so i hope this is okay!! it's an iwaoi pillow fight

Oikawa starts it.

That could be some kind of grand metaphor for his entire relationship with Oikawa, but Hajime isn’t really in the mood for introspection when he’s just been _belted in the face with a pillow_. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Iwa-chan~,” Oikawa coos, like Hajime’s face isn’t stinging with the force of the blow. It was a warning shot, he can tell, because years of volleyball have given Oikawa arms of steel. If he’d wanted to, he would’ve knocked Iwaizumi down. How charitable of him to go easy on him. “You need to learn to loosen up.”

Hajime can feel the rage starting to simmer in his gut. Oikawa is only here because he hadn’t waited for an invite, instead, just showing up on Hajime’s doorstep and forcing his way into his apartment and making himself comfortable. He’s got a bad habit of doing that, especially when Hajime most needs to be studying. It’s ridiculous. “Are you six?” Hajime snaps. He resists the urge to rub at his sore face, because that would just give Oikawa the satisfaction of knowing he’d won. “I am trying to work.”

“That’s so boring,” Oikawa sighs. He hugs the pillow to his chest and rests his chin on it, looking at Hajime. “You can’t do schoolwork your whole life, Iwa-chan. No one will ever like you if you’re so boring.”

If Hajime continues to ignore Oikawa, he’s only going to escalate his distraction tactics. With Oikawa, Hajime has had a lifetime to learn that there is no winning. There is only giving in. He grits his teeth. He marks his spot in his notes, eyeing a nearby pillow but not reaching for it. “No,” he says, closing his notebook, “being friends with _you_ is doing a pretty good job of that already.”

Before Oikawa can spout off some glib reply, Hajime’s got the pillow in his hand and he’s swinging at his face. Oikawa lets out a satisfyingly loud squawk when it connects, and he goes flying, sailing off the bed and tumbling onto the floor. He stares up at Hajime for a moment, and Hajime takes the time to enjoy how disheveled and annoyed Oikawa looks, sprawled on the floor with his hair in his eyes. It’s so rare that Hajime gets one up on Oikawa. He needs to savour it.

It doesn’t last, though. The irritation melts off Oikawa’s face, to be replaced with a pleased smile. “I knew you wanted to play,” Oikawa says, and he reaches for his own pillow, springing to his feet and leaping at Hajime.

The thing about Oikawa is that he doesn’t believe in going easy on anyone, least of all Hajime. It’s only a second before Hajime is playing defense, flat on his back while Oikawa smacks him in the head with his pillow. It’d be more annoying if Oikawa didn’t look so delighted about it, having Hajime at his mercy underneath him. “You’re not very good at this,” Oikawa tells him, like he isn’t kneeling on Hajime’s arm so he can’t wiggle free and play defense. Oikawa also doesn’t believe in leaving things to chance.

“You’re not playing fair,” Hajime points out, and he finally wrestles his arm out from under Oikawa, shoving his pillow flat into Oikawa’s face and pushing him away. It evens the playing field a little, lets Hajime at least sit up and brace himself for Oikawa’s next attack. 

He’s already so sweaty and mussed up, but Oikawa makes it look good, like it’s intentional. His shirt has come a little bit open, and where Hajime feels overheated, Oikawa just looks perfectly flushed. It only makes Hajime feel even more off centre.

“Hmm,” Oikawa says, sitting back on his heels and pushing a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I want to.” 

That’s the most warning Hajime gets before Oikawa dives at him again, and this time, the pillows are forgotten. Instead, Oikawa manages to pretty much throw himself into Hajime’s lap, a hand on either side of Hajime’s face as he kisses him breathless. There’s the indistinct noise of Hajime’s notebook finally sliding off the bed to the floor, but Hajime is a lot more interested in pulling Oikawa even closer. “Isn’t this better than homework?” Oikawa purrs.

“You are the biggest pain in my ass,” Hajime says, but he regrets it when Oikawa’s smile broadens and he wiggles his eyebrows. “Don’t say it.”

“Was that a suggestion, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa grins. He shifts his weight forward, his knees on either side of Hajime’s waist, his arms resting on his shoulders. “I thought you had things to do.”

“I do,” Hajime sighs. He knows where this is leading, and he’d been hoping to get a headstart on this project tonight. Of course, Oikawa’s always got other plans, and they always interfere with Hajime’s life. It’s a good thing that Hajime still likes him, even if he’s always been a bit hellbent on ruining everything for Hajime. “And then you happened.”

Oikawa tips his weight against Hajime’s chest until they fall back again. Hajime doesn’t mind being pinned to the bed as much when Oikawa treats it less like a battle and more like a treat, like he’s gifting Hajime with his kisses. “And you’re glad,” he tells Hajime. It’s not a question. It’s a statement.

Hajime doesn’t argue and Oikawa squirms even closer, if that’s possible. “I’m glad that you didn’t manage to ruin any of my pillows,” he corrects. Oikawa has maneuvered one leg between Hajime’s thighs, carefully arranging himself across Hajime’s chest. It’s a bit uncomfortable, because Oikawa is bigger, nothing but muscle, but Oikawa has always had a way of making Hajime enjoy the uncomfortable. At least where he’s involved. “Are you trying to fall asleep?”

“Not trying,” Oikawa says. One of his hands worms up the front of Hajime’s shirt and rests easily against his ribs. “Nap time is vital to your health.”

“It’s not vital to my grades,” Hajime replies. He considers pushing Oikawa off, he knows that it’s easiest when he’s sleepy and pliant like this. But maybe he can take a quick break. With exams coming up, it’s been a while since he got a moment to just relax with Oikawa. Well, as much as one _can_ relax with Oikawa. “You owe me for this.”

He doesn’t get a reply. Head tucked under Hajime’s chin, Oikawa has already gone to sleep. Figures. Hajime pets a hand through Oikawa’s hair and yawns, letting his eyes slide shut. Resistance is futile.


	19. Haikyuu!!, Daichi/Sugawara/Asahi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for jess jess ♥
> 
> prompt: third years, post-graduation, they're in different places but somehow end up coming back together

Daichi is the first one to get there, which is both unsurprising and completely nerve-wracking. He always overcompensates when he’s anxious, and he’s definitely anxious now. It’s been years since he’s seen a lot of his old teammates, and while he’s got fond memories of all of them, these two, these are the friendships he most regrets letting slip when they all split up to separate universities.

He feels overdressed. It’s supposed to be a casual dinner, but he’d somehow ended up in one of his nicest sweaters, his slacks unwrinkled. It’s funny, because in high school, Daichi would never have felt like he needed to impress. They’d all seen each other at their worst, sweaty and out of breath after practice, they didn’t need to dress up. Now, though, it’s been too long. He’s worried, actually, about how he’ll look to them. And that’s such a strange thing to think about.

He sits and fidgets at the table, watching his drink start to weep condensation and tracing patterns on the side of the glass. It’s not as though they’d fallen off the side of the earth, of course. Daichi’s gotten the occasional update on what they’re doing, from Nishinoya or sometimes Oikawa, if he’s feeling up to tangling with him. It’s not the same as really _seeing_ them, though.

Daichi jerks when he hears someone clear their throat, and he looks up to see Asahi, beaming down at him. It’s the weirdest sensation in the world, seeing someone you once knew intimately again after years apart. His hair is a little longer, still neatly pulled back out of his eyes, but his smile is just the same. Daichi jerks up and out of his seat, staring a little at him. “Asahi!” he exclaims, and he hesitates. Can they hug? Is that okay? “You look great.”

Asahi solves his dilemma for him by enveloping him in his arms, pulling him in towards his chest. Asahi has always, always given the best hugs. “You too,” Asahi says, and he squeezes him tight for good measure before he steps away. 

He really does look great, Daichi realizes. His sweater is a bit frayed at the wrists but it just looks worn-in, and there’s a smudge of chalk across his knuckles, but he looks relaxed, happy. Daichi had been wrong. Asahi doesn’t look the same. He’s opened up. His shoulders aren’t pulled in, he’s not trying to shrink away. Teaching has done him good. 

“How was work today?” Daichi asks, gesturing towards one of the chairs. “You’d mentioned you teach kids?”

“Six year olds,” Asahi says, smiling fondly. “I guess I have an idea now of what you had to deal with back at Karasuno.”

Daichi leans back in his chair, water glass in hand. “Ahhh, you feel my pain,” he says.

After that, the conversation dries up and the silence stretches, awkward and uncomfortable. Daichi feels like he should take the lead, but his words have all dried up, his tongue tied. How do you talk to someone who was once one of your closest friends? He feels the same way he felt when he was getting dressed: like everything is either too casual or too formal. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe they can’t bring this back.

“Well, this is sad.” Daichi would know that voice anywhere. Warm hands settle on his shoulders and he finds himself smiling without thinking. “It’s a good thing you invited me, or else you’d both sit in silence for the entire night.”

Daichi reaches up to curl his hand over Koushi’s. Since high school, Koushi’s observant eyes have always made him so good at knowing when to step in, or what to say. It seems he’s only gotten better at it while there were apart. “Have you come to rescue us?” he asks, and Asahi laughs.

“I have,” Koushi says, and he taps Daichi’s shoulder. “Come on, this feels a little stuffy. Let’s go get ice cream.” Asahi lights up and he stands and pulls Koushi into a hug of his own. As he’s pressed into Asahi’s chest, Koushi grins and raises his eyebrows at Daichi. This, at least, hasn’t changed.

Koushi hasn’t either, not really. His pale hair still falls artfully into his eyes, and his smile is still as bright and warm as Daichi remembers it. Daichi feels strange, for a moment, a little overwhelmed by the oddest sensation - the feeling of relief of having something back when you hadn’t even realized how much you’d missed it. He hangs back, watching Asahi and Koushi make their pleasantries, but Koushi would never let him escape so easily. “Come on,” he says, holding out his hand for Daichi. “I haven’t forgotten your sweet tooth.” 

As they head out of the restaurant, Asahi’s hand presses up against the small of his back for a moment, a steadying gesture, the kind of assured affection that Daichi doesn’t remember Asahi having. When he looks back, Asahi’s hand drops and he smiles, but it’s not apologetic.

They find a little ice cream shop a few blocks away, and as they walk out with their little cups of ice cream, it suddenly feels a lot more like high school again. It feels like the nights after practice matches, Daichi treating them to a snack to celebrate. “Ah, deja vu,” he says. He raises his spoon. “Although, this time, you mooches could afford to buy for yourself.”

Koushi hums, and he nudges Asahi with an elbow. “Oh, I don’t know about Asahi, but I could afford it,” he says, smiling cheerfully. “I just thought it was nicer if you paid for everything.”

All Daichi can do is laugh and roll his eyes. “I promise,” Asahi says, earnest and fond, “that I never did that.”

Daichi glances at him, and it’s startling to realize that Asahi isn’t afraid of him anymore. He doesn’t avoid Daichi’s eye, and his reassurance was not for himself, but for Daichi. They’ve all grown a lot, these past five years. “I trust you,” Daichi says, and it’s true, too. Even now, he still does.

“So,” Koushi says, and he fits himself between them, as easily as he always has. “Who wants to be the first to tell me all about what they’re doing?” He hooks his arms into each of theirs, anchoring them together, and Daichi’s chest swells with a familiar affection. He’s missed this so, so much.


	20. GOT7, JB/Jackson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for krys ♥
> 
> prompt: hp au! this is super late please don't be mad :(

A bludger whizzes by Jackson’s head, and he only barely manages to dodge, spinning away and twisting around to bat it back, sending it back towards the Slytherin dickhead who’d hit it first. “They’ve really got it out for you, don’t they?” Yubin calls, and Jackson pulls his broom upright again, rubbing at a bruise at his shoulder. He hadn’t been so lucky, last time.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Jackson grimaces. It’s kind of ridiculous. Jackson’s a _beater_ , he’s supposed to be playing defense for the other players, not be the target himself. Slytherins aren’t exactly known for their sense of fair play, but this is a bit much. He looks down the field to where the chasers are grouped around Gryffindor’s rings. He knows just who it is. Captain Im Jaebum looks back, and even at this distance, Jackson can see him grin. Jackson seethes.

This isn’t even close to the first time that he and Jaebum have clashed. It seems like every time he runs into him, they’re butting heads. On the Quidditch pitch, in their shared Potions class, since they were sorted into different houses in first year, Jackson and Jaebum have been in a constant state of competition. They’re in their last year, and honestly, it’s starting to get old.

This was supposed to be a friendly match, but just before the whistle blows, Jackson dives forward to catch a bludger headed for Taecyeon’s head, and he ends up with a mouthful of sod and mud from his chin to his knees. High above him, he can hear the cheers of his team, but he’s more concerned with picking the grass out of his teeth. At least those bastards didn’t get a win. 

He’s climbing to his feet when a bludger embeds itself in the soil less than a foot from him. Jackson leaps to the side, heart pounding. “Hey!” he bellows. “The game is over, assholes.” He’s not even in the _air_. 

“Oops.” Jaebum flies up, graceful as ever. “That one was my fault.” His own green robes are completely spotless, and Jackson kind of hates him, a little.

“They were all your fault!” Jackson snaps. He wipes futilely at the mud on his face and spits, glaring at Jaebum. He doesn’t remember where this all started, but right now, he’s absolutely furious about it. “You know this was supposed to be a _practice_ match, right?” His jaw hurts, but at least he got his daily dose of soil.

Jaebum rests his broom over his shoulder. “I was just keeping things interesting,” he says, and he smiles. Like this is a _joke_. That last bludger could’ve taken his head off, and they may have won the game, but Jackson is kind of getting tired of how this is all going. There’s a difference between friendly competition and outright antagonism, and Jackson’s pretty sure that Jaebum’s crossed it about three years ago. “Can’t handle it?”

The sun is setting, and Jackson rubs at his eyes. He’s too sore and tired to do this anymore. “I guess not,” he says, and he gathers up his broom and walks away. When they meet up in the middle of the field, Jackson gives Jaebum the most perfunctory handshake, and doesn’t bother to make eye contact.

When Jaebum calls after him, Jackson ignores him.

 

 

For the next day or so, Jackson gets to pretend that Jaebum doesn’t exist, but of course, that doesn’t last. He’s at breakfast with the Ravenclaw table, having sweet-talked a little first year into giving his space so he can sit next to Mark, and he’s plowing through his plate when conversation around them dies. He turns around, mouth around his fork, to find Jaebum standing behind him, prefect badge flashing on the chest of his spotless robes. Jackson’s mouth tightens. “Can I help you?” he asks.

Jaebum is almost at a loss for a moment. “That bruise looks nasty,” he says, and Jackson freezes when he reaches out to touch his fingertips to Jackson’s jaw. Jaebum hastily pulls his hand away, cheeks a bit pink, and Jackson has no idea what is happening right now. “Is that from the game?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says, rubbing absently at it. “It’s some of your handiwork.” He glances over at Mark, but all he gets is raised eyebrows and a shrug in return. He’s not the only one who can’t figure out what Jaebum is getting at.

“Can I talk to you?” Jaebum asks, and he gestures at the doors to the hall. “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot.”

Sure, like, back in first year. “Okay, I guess,” Jackson says, and he grabs his last piece of bacon before he stands, stuffing it in his mouth. He knocks his knuckles against Mark’s shoulder. “See you in Transfiguration?”

“Yeah, gotcha,” Mark says. They look at each other for a moment, Mark’s eyebrows dipping in concern. Jackson shakes his head. Jaebum’s a pain in the ass, but he’s pretty sure that he can handle it. 

Jackson tightens his robes around his shoulders as they head out into the courtyard. The weather’s starting to get cold now. “So,” Jackson says, dragging his heels. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

He lets Jaebum lead them over to a bench and he throws himself down, waiting. “I think I’ve done something to make you angry,” Jaebum says, almost hesitantly. Jackson had been skeptical before, but there’s something earnest and unsure about Jaebum right now, and he’s willing to hear him out.

“Well, yeah,” Jackson says. “Like, a billion things.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Dude, why are you so intense about all this stuff? Is it really so bad if I win something?” 

Jaebum looks a little pained. “I thought we were on the same page,” he says, and Jackson blinks. “I thought - I thought you were right there, just as competitive as I am.” He flushes again, and Jackson thinks idly that it suits him. “This was our thing.”

Well. That’s… “We have a thing?” Jackson says slowly. For nearly seven years, he’s been under the impression that Jaebum sort of hated him, at least enough to make sure that he’d never be number one. “We have a thing.”

Jaebum makes a completely uncharacteristic strangled noise. It’s somehow really satisfying. “I’ve completely misread this,” he says, sounding faintly horrified.

It’s the first time in ages that Jackson has felt anything approaching fondness for Jaebum. “It’s kinda nice to know that you don’t hate me,” he offers, because it definitely is. Jackson’s not very good at holding grudges, and he’s really getting sick of this one, especially since he can’t even remember where it started. He’s got a vague memory of an argument in a first year Potions class, but that’s about it. “Cause I was pretty convinced there for a while. Especially when you were trying to kill me on the pitch.”

“You’re good,” Jaebum says, sincerely, and Jackson’s face heats up under the unexpected praise. “You’re _really_ good. I knew you could handle it.”

That startles a laugh out of Jackson. “Dude, I have absolutely no idea if I should be flattered by that or not.”

“It’s just the truth,” Jaebum says. He glances down at his hands and then up at Jackson again. “I never meant to make you think, well, anything else.”

Jackson hums. It’d sound like a half-assed apology if Jaebum wasn’t so sincere about it, eyebrows creased up and eyes wide with concern. “You have a really weird way of treating your friends,” Jackson says, but it’s gentle. 

“I’m sorry,” Jaebum says immediately. “I really thought -”

Jackson’s a lot of things, but he’s not really a sadist. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t have to embarrass Jaebum anymore than he’s already embarrassed himself. “Nah, it’s cool,” he says, and he shrugs. “Besides, we totally kicked your asses yesterday, even if you played dirty.”

“I don’t play dirty,” Jaebum says, a bit indignant. “I play strategically.”

Jackson can feel himself relenting, if only a little. “If you say so,” he says, smiling a little, and Jaebum smiles back. When it’s not smug, it’s kind of nice.


	21. EXO, Suho/Sehun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for anon ♥
> 
> prompt: sehun/suho basketball au. i may have diverged from this...

The first time that Joonmyun sees him, he’s on the way home from work. He’s passed by this basketball court dozens of times before, but this is the first time that he’s paused to watch the game. There are only three guys on the court, playing some kind of pick up game, and they can’t be out of their twenties. They’re all laughing and talking, but one catches Joonmyun’s eye. He’s tall and lanky, almost lazy in comparison to the other two, more inclined to wait for the ball to come to him, rather than vice versa. He’s pale, blond and handsome, with broad shoulders and long legs, and Joonmyun allows himself to take a moment to watch him play.

Joonmyun is a little bit jealous of them, if he’s honest. He really does enjoy his job, he likes working with people and helping them out, but he spends every single day in a suit and tie, buttoned right up to his throat, and by the time he gets home, he’s too tired to do anything like this. He misses it, sometimes.

It’d be nice, too, if he had someone who looks like that. He looks out at the court, at the way the handsome guy calls his friend’s name and an insult, his smile transforming his face. It’s a little bit captivating.

He maybe stares too long, though. One of the friends, even taller with sharp, dark eyes, nudges the blond guy and looks pointedly over in Joonmyun’s direction, and Joonmyun flushes when they both turn to look at him. He suddenly feels very rumpled and unimpressive, with his day-old shirt and his jacket folded over one arm. He’s not even wearing his tie right now.

And still, the guy’s gaze is lingering, considering. Joonmyun clears his throat and turns away, shifting his jacket and his briefcase and hurrying on his way. It’s silly, anyway, to stand and wonder. He feels very old, right now.

 

 

The next time he sees him, it’s on the train, instead. It’s late and Joonmyun is half asleep, elbow hooked around a pole to keep himself steady with the sway of the train while he dashes off another last minute email to Yixing in marketing. They round the corner and someone stumbles into him. Automatically, Joonmyun reaches out to steady them, a hand on their wrist. “Sorry,” the guy mumbles, and that’s when Joonmyun actually looks up and sees him. His long, toned arms are hidden under his jacket, and up close, Joonmyun wonders if he’d overestimated his age.

“It’s no problem,” Joonmyun assures him, dropping his hand. The guy smells like something nice, and probably expensive. Joonmyun probably shouldn’t be taking note of that.

The train is filling up, and Joonmyun ends up standing very close to him, nearly touching. He’s so tall. It takes a moment, but then the guy peers down at him. “Hey,” he says. “I know you.”

Joonmyun feels vaguely embarrassed. “Do you?” he asks. He has very mixed feelings about being remembered.

“Yeah,” the man nods. “You were watching us at the court yesterday.”

“Ah, were you the one who was playing?” Joonmyun feigns indifference, but there’s something sharp about the guy’s eyes that lets Joonmyun know that he’s not really fooling anyone. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, then.” He hesitates, and then sticks out his free hand. “I’m Kim Joonmyun.”

The guy tilts his head. “Oh Sehun,” he replies, squeezing his hand. For a moment, Joonmyun wavers, wondering if he’s making a fool of himself, but then Sehun smiles, slow and small. “Do you play basketball?” The train chimes and announces the next stop. “If you wanted to join us, you could just ask, you know.”

Joonmyun can’t help but laugh at that. “Oh, I don’t think I’d bother,” he says, and he gestures down at himself and his small frame. “I’m pretty sure that that would be an exercise in futility.”

Sehun hums. “Why were you watching, then?” His eyes are fixed on Joonmyun’s face, and he is very, very interested in Joonmyun’s reply. It’s a bit overwhelming. “If you’re not a basketball fan.”

“I guess I was just missing my school days,” Joonmyun says. It’s only a half-truth, but it still seems like a far better answer than ‘I saw you playing basketball and I was taking a moment to admire your nice arms’. 

“If you say so,” Sehun says. When Joonmyun had first seen him, he’d thought that Sehun was model handsome and model impassive, but he’s seeing the way that Sehun’s mouth quirks up playfully. He’s kind of cute like this.

The train sways to a stop and Joonmyun realizes with a start that it’s his station. “It was nice to meet you, Sehun.”

Sehun nods. “Yeah,” he says. 

When Joonmyun gets off, he turns back and looks at the train. Through the window, he can see Sehun watching him, gaze inscrutable. Joonmyun considers waving, but settles instead on giving Sehun a quick smile before he heads up the stairs. Someone steps in front of Sehun, and Joonmyun can’t tell if he smiles back.

 

 

Joonmyun is far too busy with the end of the quarter to be spending this much time thinking about some handsome man he barely knows at all. “Joonmyun.” Kyungsoo taps a finger against the folder he has open in front of them, frowning a little. “Have you been listening to a word I’ve been saying?”

“Ah, I’m sorry,” Joonmyun says, laughing and shaking his head. It’s been a week since he’d last seen Sehun, and he’d been idly wondering if maybe he’d see him again on the train, or maybe at the court. It’s silly, that the idea has him excited about his trip home, for once. “I guess I’m a little bit tired.”

Kyungsoo sniffs. “Then wake up,” he says, and he slides the folder over, underneath Joonmyun’s nose. “We need to get this done by the end of the day, and I can’t do that if you fall asleep on me.”

“Sure,” Joonmyun says, and he picks up the paperwork, fully intending to focus on what he should be doing. It’s not easy, though, because Kyungsoo had mentioned the end of the day, and now Joonmyun’s thoughts are stuck on the pink of Sehun’s lips. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I think you’re lost in the clouds,” Kyungsoo says, and he sighs. “Read that, I’m going to get you coffee and pray that we get out of here before midnight.” He grabs Joonmyun’s mug ( _World’s Best Accountant_ ) and heads to the staff room.

When the door closes, Joonmyun sighs, pushing a hand through his hair and shaking his head. “Get it together, Kim,” he mutters, and he laughs a little at himself. He hasn’t gotten this dreamy over someone since he was a kid, and he kind of can’t believe himself. He has no idea what it is about this guy that has him so off-centre.

He’s actually managed to work his way through a few pages of the report when there’s a knock at the door. “Come in,” he says, distracted. Kyungsoo wouldn’t have knocked, and he’s been expecting a package this morning. 

“Oh.” Sehun even looks good in the less than stylish uniform of the delivery company. “Hey.”

Joonmyun is a very practical person, but there is a very small part of him that wants to believe that running into Sehun everywhere is a kind of fate. Maybe this is supposed to mean something. He puts down his pen and tips his head up to smile at Sehun. “Hi!” he says. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I need you to sign for this,” Sehun says, and something in Joonmyun’s chest is stubbed out. Maybe it’s not fate.

“Of course,” Joonmyun says, and he takes the pen from him, signing quickly. “Wouldn’t want to keep you waiting.”

When he hands back Sehun’s clipboard, Sehun doesn’t immediately turn, instead stands and hovers in the doorway. “You’re everywhere,” he says after a moment. “It’s weird.”

“I guess,” Joonmyun says, and he’s a little bit hopeful. “Life is funny like that.”

“Let’s do it on purpose,” Sehun says abruptly, and Joonmyun is a bit startled and pleased to realize that he’s not nearly as confident and put together as he pretends to be. His smile gets wider. “Meet up, I mean. For coffee, or something.”

Through the open doorway, Joonmyun can see Kyungsoo standing with two mugs, eyeing Sehun with suspicion. “I’d like that,” Joonmyun says. He’s fighting back a rising rush of giddiness, but he knows better than to get in Kyungsoo’s way, so he reaches for a scrap of paper and scribbles down his number. “Call me, some time.”

 

Kyungsoo pushes briskly past Sehun, setting the coffees down on the desk. “No one makes phonecalls anymore,” he tells Joonmyun. He takes the phone number from Joonmyun and pushes it into Sehun’s hand. “As deeply touching as this moment is, I need to declare it over. We have things to do.”

Sehun’s cheeks turn pink, and he tightens his hand around the scrap of paper. “I’ll text,” Sehun says, and Joonmyun laughs.

“Alright, I’ll see you.”

This time, Sehun gives him a little wave as he ducks out the door, and Kyungsoo pulls up his chair, settling up across from Joonmyun. “Is that why you were so distracted?” he asks. He raises an eyebrow. “Charming. I hope this means you can focus now.”

Joonmyun pats his hand against the outline of his phone in his pocket. “You can count on me,” he assures him, even if he’s already waiting for the vibration to announce a text. Kyungsoo sighs and rubs his eyes.


	22. Nikita, Birkhoff-centric

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for vyr ♥
> 
> was there a real prompt?? we just don't know. post-series beach hangs.

Trust Nikki to pick the most obscure beach in the world to meet up. He’d briefly considered playing civilian, but when he’d found out it’d take them like four flights and an hour on a bus, he immediately went about chartering a helicopter. That got real old, real fast, and Birkhoff had to do something dramatic.

“Why are you still up?” Sonya yawns, and she steps forward, leaning against Birkhoff’s back, her arms resting over his shoulders. “...are you buying a _helicopter_ at three in the morning?”

When she puts it like that, it does sound kinda weird. “Nikki called,” he says, and Sonya twists to look at him, eyebrows raised. It takes him a moment to realize that that doesn’t really make sense as an excuse. “It’s her birthday next week. She wants us there.”

“So you’re buying her a helicopter?” Sonya asks. She laughs sleepily, tipping her chin to press her cheek to the top of Birkhoff’s head. “Could this have not waited for a few hours?”

It’s a rhetorical question, and they both know it. It’s been a few weeks since they’ve heard from Michael and Nikita, and while sometimes it makes Birkhoff kind of anxious, the thought of someone he cares about being so disconnected, he totally gets it. When you spend so much of your life being tracked by Big Brother, you start to get pretty into the idea of being able to disappear. It’ll be nice to see them again.

“I just wanted to get it out of the way,” Birkhoff says, and he catches her wrist, pulling her hand towards him and kissing her palm. “We’re about due for a vacation aren’t we?”

Sonya hums, sliding her hand down to lace their fingers together. “I’d thought we’ve been on vacation for a few weeks now,” she says. She’s not wrong. Alex’s last tour of Europe had ended a month ago, and since then, they’ve all been taking a well-deserved breather. Birkhoff is just glad he’s gotten his girlfriend back again. Sonya leans forward, and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Come to bed soon.” She hesitates before she pulls away. “And unless you’ve been secretly taking pilot lessons, you should hire someone to fly us there, too.”

Birkhoff blinks at the screen. He hadn’t thought of that. “What would I do without you?” he asks, and she squeezes his shoulder before she heads off to their bedroom. “I’ll be in in a sec,” he calls over his shoulder.

It doesn’t take very long to buy the chopper, or to put out some feelers on some pro pilots that would be discreet enough to trust with Nikita’s location. As he stands, Birkhoff rolls his shoulders, stretching his arms out before cracking his knuckles. It’ll be good to see the old team again.

Sonya’s already half asleep again by the time he climbs into bed, and he slides in behind her, chest pressed to her back. “What do you get for the assassin who has everything?” he asks, and Sonya laughs, pulling him closer.

 

 

He’s gotta give Nikki credit. This place is absolutely beautiful. Almost worth the half a day in transit. The landing pad is right on the beach, and their house is a dream. They take a moment to gather their things, and Birkhoff gives their pilot strict instructions on when to return, and when the helicopter lifts off again and he turns back to the house, Nikita is already on her way out to greet them. 

Freedom is treating her well. She’s got a great tan and an enormous smile, and she folds him into a hug immediately. “Nerd,” she says, and that nickname should not be nearly as affectionate as it sounds coming from her, “I can’t believe you left your lair for little old me.”

“You summon, I arrive,” Birkhoff replies, dropping their suitcases down on the tarmac. “Where’s the wife? Do I gotta carry these in all by myself?”

“You look marvelous,” Sonya says, squeezing Nikita. “Maybe I should buy my own island too. You’re making it look very enticing.”

“Best purchase we’ve ever made,” Michael says as he walks up. Birkhoff takes a minute to take in the fact that _Michael Bishop_ is _barefoot_ in the sand. He can probably count the number of times he’s seen Michael in anything other than a suit on one hand. “Need a hand?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Birkhoff says, and as he hoists one of his bags up, Nikita grabs the other, throwing her arm around his shoulders. It’s a couple hundred miles from civilization, but Birkhoff thinks that this feels a lot like home.

 

 

“I told you you shouldn’t make a challenge like that,” Birkhoff says, leaning back in his chair. He’d insisted on an umbrella, to protect his delicate indoor complexion, and now he’s got a nice cold drink and his toes stuck in the hot sand and yeah, Nikki’s got a slice of heaven right here.

Sam might disagree, though. He’s buried up to his neck in the sand while Alex so lovingly pats it in around him and he squints up in the bright sunlight, wiggling around in a futile attempt to free himself. “What the hell?” he says. “What did you use, concrete?”

Next to Alex, Sonya sits back on her heels, admiring their handiwork. “It’s your own fault,” she reminds him, pushing her damp hair back. “You fell asleep in the middle, and you would be amazed what you can do with wet sand.”

“And look at that, we could do it!” Alex climbs gracefully to her feet and folds herself into the chair next to Birkhoff. “God, this is so much better than all that snow. Even I have my limits.” She stretches her arms up over her head, and Birkhoff thinks that yeah, she looks good too. He’s been monitoring their touring, of course, watching the news reports and the conferences. Going into activism, this is definitely Alex’s element. Still a hero, even now. “Don’t you want a tan?” She prods him in one pale arm.

“I don’t tan,” he says wryly, and he flexes his arm. “But I could be persuaded, if Sonya wanted to put sunscreen on my back.” He looks over at Sonya and lifts his chin, wiggling his eyebrows.

Sonya has always given him a lot of free rein, but everyone’s got their limits. “I’m afraid you’ll be waiting a long time for that,” she tells him, and she throws a handful of sand at him. Yeah, he deserved that.

There’s a splash and Birkhoff looks up to see Nikita finally emerging from the water. “Nikki, this is paradise,” he calls, and she smiles, wide and unrestrained. It’s exactly the way she should always look, he thinks. As she towels off her hair, he takes a sip of his drink. “Though, you know, it’s hard to figure out what to buy for someone who owns their own island.”

She sits down on the end of his chair, and he doesn’t even mind that much when she drips all over his bare legs. “I got the birthday present I wanted,” she says gently, and she grabs his hand, and Alex’s. “I have my family all here.”

They’re all quiet for a moment, and Birkhoff knows that they’re all thinking the same thing. It’s not quite everyone, but it’s as close as they’ll get. And that’s pretty damn good.

Birkhoff squeezes Nikita’s hand tightly and she turns to him, smiles. 

“That’s beautiful,” Sam says, and he’s starting to turn red with the heat and his struggle to free himself, “but I’m still stuck here. Can I get a hand here?” He only turns redder when they start laughing.


	23. GOT7, JB/Jackson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for anon ♥
> 
> prompt: jackbum kink negotiation

“Spanking.” Jaebum raises an eyebrow, his thumb rubbing rhythmically against the bones of Jackson’s ankle. Jackson’s sprawled out on the couch, his feet tucked into Jaebum’s lap, and it’s nice and comfortable like this. “Like, the whole ‘you’re a bad boy’ thing?” He looks pretty confused by the idea, and that makes Jackson redden a little, avoiding his gaze.

“Nah, dude,” Jackson says, digging his heel into the meat of Jaebum’s thigh, just a little. “It’s not like that, I mean, for me?” His cheeks heat up, but he powers through. He wants Jaebum to understand this, how it works for him. “It’s more about, the pain, like, a little bit, but mostly about giving you that power.” Jaebum’s eyes get big and soft, but he doesn’t say anything, and it makes Jackson nervous. He’s always been kinda shitty with his words. “It’s cool, if you’re not into it, we don’t have to try it.”

“No,” Jaebum says, immediately and firmly. His fingers tighten around Jackson’s ankle. “No, you played along with my thing.” Jackson can’t help but start to grin at the memory of that night, unconsciously pressing his fingertips against the still-fading bruises on one of his wrists. Yeah, that was really a good night. “It’s only fair I give yours a chance.”

Jackson’s smile turns fond and warm, and he scrambles up into Jaebum’s lap. Jaebum grunts in surprise but he adjusts to Jackson’s weight, settling his hands on Jackson’s hips and tipping his head up to meet his eyes. “Even if it’s weird?” Jackson asks.

“Are you kidding?” Jaebum laughs. “Jackson, _everything_ about you is weird. It’s all just part of the package.”

Jackson probably shouldn’t find that so endearing. “Oh, I’ll show you a package,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows wildly, and Jaebum groans, placing a hand in Jackson’s face and pushing him away. Good thing Jackson has never been all that easily dislodged. He licks at the palm of Jaebum’s hand until Jaebum yelps, and when Jaebum jerks his hand away, Jackson swoops in to kiss him. It’s sort of like an apology.

 

 

They don’t try it out until a couple of weeks later. Jackson wants to give Jaebum a little while to get used to the idea, and maybe it’s kinda cheesy, but he sorta wants to make it special. When he finally corners Jaebum on a weekend night, Jaebum’s suspicious. “Did you schedule this?” Jaebum asks, fond, and he lets Jackson back him into the bed, folding under their combined weight until he falls back onto the mattress. “Did you actually schedule our sex?”

“No,” Jackson says indignantly, although it’s totally true. Neither of them have to work tomorrow, and they’ve had all day off to laze around and do nothing, so they’re both relaxed. He may or may not have thought of all of the angles so that they can make this work. “This is totally spontaneous.”

“Uh huh.” Jaebum tugs at Jackson’s shirt front until he’s straddling Jaebum’s waist, hands spread across his chest. “That’s why you’ve been watching the clock for the last couple of hours and only started getting handsy at the stroke of seven.” He rubs his hands up and down Jackson’s thighs, digging his fingertips in just enough to make Jackson feel it. “You’re kind of ridiculous, you know that?”

Jackson grins at him. “Yeah,” he says, without hesitation. “You dig it, though.” 

“Aren’t you lucky?” Jaebum says, and he pulls Jackson down to meet him.

Jackson loves it when Jaebum pushes him around, and he doesn’t mind at all that he ends up sprawled across Jaebum’s chest, Jaebum’s hand curled around the back of his head. They kiss until Jackson is over-heated and putty in Jaebum’s hands, making tiny little noises into Jaebum’s mouth and doing his best to curl his way right into Jaebum’s warmth. “You better not be doing this so we don’t try out the spanking thing tonight,” he mumbles, and Jaebum smooths a hand down Jackson’s ribs and nips at his bottom lip.

“Trust me,” Jaebum says, and Jackson smiles. He does, with every little bit of him, and that’s the only reason he’d even mentioned that he was into this in the first place. The last relationship he was in, his girlfriend had laughed herself sick at the idea, and that had kinda really sucked. “If I didn’t want to do this, I promise I would tell you.”

Jackson lets Jaebum pull him into a kiss again, hand gentle but unyielding on the back of his neck. He loves kissing so much that even though he knows that he’s being distracted, he’s going to let it slide. They can always try things out next time, anyway.

And then Jaebum’s other hand slides under the waistband of Jackson’s sweats, tapping against his ass cheek, and Jackson’s breath stutters to a halt. “This really is a thing for you, isn’t it?” Jaebum says quietly and all Jackson can do is nod, suddenly aware of his half-hard dick in his pants. “Alright, let’s give this a try.”

Jackson has never gotten undressed so quickly in his life. Jaebum looks up from where he’s unbuttoning his pants and starts to laugh when he sees Jackson, naked and ready on the bed. “You’ve been waiting your whole life for this,” he says, and Jackson reaches out to yank Jaebum’s pants down in a hurry. 

“You’ve got no idea,” he says. Jaebum’s grin gets sharp and pleased.

Jackson ends up on his elbows and knees, his forehead pressed against his linked hands in front of him and his ass high in the air. He’s almost shaking with anticipation, his cock bobbing beneath him. He’s fantasized about this for _months _. He can’t believe that it’s finally happening. “I’m ready.”__

__Jaebum drags in a breath, stroking a hand up from the top of Jackson’s spine down to his tailbone, and Jackson’s back bows beneath his touch. It’s only ratcheting up the tension, making Jackson’s breath stutter in his chest. “I haven’t even started,” Jaebum says, and he sounds almost awed. Jackson whines._ _

__The first slap makes Jackson jerk forward, his cock standing at attention. It’s not hard enough even to sting, but Jackson feels like he’s on fire already. “Again,” he says roughly, arching his back. “God, _please_.”_ _

__Jackson can hear Jaebum inhale sharply, and that’s the only warning he gets before the next blow comes. This one makes Jackson screw his eyes shut, a groan punched out of his chest. Jaebum’s getting warmed up now, and Jackson can feel the echo of the pain in his flesh. He needs so much more._ _

__“More?” Jaebum asks, stroking his hand over the shape of Jackson’s ass. “Talk to me.”_ _

__It takes Jackson a full five seconds to gather himself enough to talk. “Really give it to me,” Jackson says, and Jaebum laughs a little. “I won’t break.”_ _

__“Your wish is my command.”_ _

__Jackson doesn’t even have a chance to brace himself before the next slap. The noise resounds in their bedroom and Jackson _sobs_ , digging his hands into the sheets. Another one comes, and another one, and Jackson’s ass is starting to throb with it, hot and sharp, and he doesn’t even have to reach beneath himself to jerk off. His cock is so hard it’s leaking and tears are pushing at the backs of his eyes and Jackson is so, so overwhelmed by it. _ _

__His body jerks forward with each crack of Jaebum’s hand, and he can’t help but cry out Jaebum’s name. It’s a mistake. Jaebum stops immediately, resting his palm against the small of Jackson’s back. “Are you okay?” he asks, and he sounds so concerned._ _

__Jackson would laugh if he wasn’t so frustrated. “Don’t stop,” he begs. “Seriously, dude, please don’t stop.”_ _

__Jaebum’s fingers over Jackson’s aching ass feel amazing, but they’re not what he needs. “I’ve got you,” Jaebum says, and Jackson shivers._ _

__When Jaebum’s next slap connects, it’s just on this side of too much, and Jackson shouts, clutching so hard at the sheets that his knuckles ache. He can feel that heat coiling in his gut, and he’s so, _so_ close. Jackson buries his face in the blankets beneath him and reaches for his dick, jerking himself fast and desperate. He comes when Jaebum’s palm hits him again, and he almost collapses, sparks whiting out behind his eyes. _ _

__When he comes down again, he’s sprawled on his face, Jaebum’s hands on either side of his hips. He twists to look up at Jaebum, and it’s a real effort. He feels so boneless and fucked out he never wants to move again. “That was pretty nice,” he mumbles._ _

__Jaebum is staring at him, an astonished smile on his face. “That was…”_ _

__“Yeah.” Jackson reaches for Jaebum’s wrist and tugs feebly at him until he lies down next to him. “C’mere. I’m about to give you the greatest and laziest handjob, but also the most thankful.” Jaebum snorts and pushes his face into Jackson’s hair, curling up against him._ _

__Jackson strokes Jaebum off with one arm hooked around his shoulders and his mouth pressed to his forehead. Jaebum grunts when he comes, his hands tightening against Jackson’s chest before they relax, and he sighs. It’s not nearly an adequate end for their night, but also Jackson isn’t really sure he’d be able to get up right now if he tried. “You’re so great,” Jackson says blearily. “I don’t even. Know. Words. And my ass hurts and it’s _great_.” Jaebum starts to laugh. “Dude, I love you so much.”_ _

__“That was worth trying out,” Jaebum tells him, his grin broadening. “I have never seen you get that riled up that fast.” Jackson can tell that he’s pleased with himself, because he’s not even fussing about how gross the sheets are right now, and they _are_ gross. Jackson’s pretty sure he’s got his own come gluing his sheets to his back right now. “You’re amazing.”_ _

__“No way,” Jackson says, his eyelids drooping. “You literally just made my dreams come true.” He squirms as close to Jaebum as humanly possible and yawns. “The wet ones. Super happy ending.”_ _

__“Just returning the favour,” Jaebum says, and he presses a kiss to the top of Jackson’s head. “Now we’re even.”_ _


	24. GOT7, JB/Jackson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for christina ♥
> 
> prompt: 'stripper!jackson and awkward businessman jaebum who is extremely stiff and jackson wants to loosen him up.'
> 
> this is super late and i apologize but it was just such a fun prompt that i wanted to do it justice!!

“Hey.” Zitao claps Jackson on the shoulder as he comes back in, gesturing at the door. “You’re up.” The glitter that he hasn’t sweat off yet catches the flourescent light of their dressing room, and he shimmies into a pair of skin-tight leather pants, throwing Jackson a quick smile. “It’s a bit slow, but there’s a first-timer in the front row that I think you’ll like.”

Jackson raises an eyebrow. He’s got no idea what that’s supposed to mean. “Yeah, thanks,” he says, standing up and pushing his hair back, one last time. Mid-week shifts aren’t that great, at least in terms of tips, but Jackson doesn’t mind too much. The crowds are less rowdy, and he gets to spend less time pelvic thrusting in someone’s face and more time dancing. And _that’s_ what Jackson really likes about this job.

Tugging his suspenders up on his shoulders, Jackson heads out to the stage. He’s spent all day working on a last minute term paper, and he’s so ready to get out there and work off the tension. Some of the guys in the club have really cheesy stages, all themed and everything, but he likes to do things old school. Nothing but him, the pole, and a shirt he can tear off his body with minimal effort. He doesn’t need any bells and whistles when he’s got an ass that just don’t quit.

The DJ cues up the music and Jackson saunters onstage, hooking his thumbs under his suspenders and doing a quick bend down, taking his time to straighten up, his ass practically in someone’s face. He lives for that dazed expression in the guy’s eyes. God, he loves this job.

Down at the end of the stage, he can see the guy Zitao had picked out. Definitely a first-timer. He’s handsome, but he’s still wearing his _suit_ from his job, and he can’t figure out where exactly to look. Jackson decides to give him a little help. He drops his suspenders and grabs the pole, leaping into what he knows is an impressive climb before bending back in a hold and throwing a wink at the first-timer. The guy blushes and Jackson grins. Never fails.

His routine is a well-worn one, but that’s just because he knows it works. He’s down to nothing but his tiny shorts now, and he’s finally figured out that first-timer’s companion is Jinyoung, a regular. Jackson’s always liked him, he keeps his hands to himself and tips well. He drops to his knees in front of them, shimmying his hips. “You brought a friend!” he exclaims, bestowing a smile on the first-timer. “He’s cute.”

Jinyoung pulls at Jackson’s waistband, tucking a bill in. “Come see us after your stage?” he asks.

Jackson raises an eyebrow as he climbs to his feet again. That’s definitely a request for a personal dance. Those always pay well. He grins, glancing over at Jinyoung’s friend. Looks like someone’s getting a pretty great birthday present. “Yeah, for sure,” he says. “You don’t have to ask me twice.” Especially not for such a pretty face.

By the time the music cuts out, Jackson’s wearing nothing but the chain around his neck and the eyeliner around his eyes, and he slings his briefs over his shoulder, giving the crowd a smirk before he heads backstage again. He throws a swagger into his step, because he figures that they all deserve one last treat. They’re blessed to get a peek at an ass like his, honestly.

After him, there’s a break in the dancing before Zitao and his partner get geared up for their joint stage. Jackson takes a moment to rehydrate and clean up and, of course, put on some clothes. He usually spends a good portion of his shift circulating around the floor, talking to customers and seeing if he can get some interest in a private dance. He doesn’t mind this part of the job, either, because he likes talking to people, as long as they’re up for a conversation too, and not just trying to get a happy ending out of a dance.

He works his way across the floor, greeting a few regulars and grabbing a beer from Mark at the bar, and then finally, he meets up with Jinyoung and his handsome friend at their table. “Great show,” Jinyoung says, raising his drink to Jackson, and he grins. “You gotta switch it up, though, I think I saw that routine last time I was here.”

“Dude, you’re the one coming into a strip joint often enough to get familiar with a stripper’s routine,” he laughs. Jinyoung’s friend looks a little shell-shocked, and Jackson decides to soften him up. He leans over the table, aiming for casual, not coquettish. “So what’s your name, man? You know mine, let’s even things up.”

The guy tips his head. He’s still a little flushed, avoiding looking down past Jackson’s exposed nipples to his teeny tiny shorts. Jackson’s grin just gets wider. “Can it really be even if you’re mostly naked?” he asks.

Jackson shrugs. “It’s part of the gig,” he says, “but I don’t really mind. If you got it, flaunt it, right?” Jinyoung’s friend’s eyes dart down to where Jackson’s dick is pushing at the front of his shorts, and Jackson’s gotta bite back a laugh. First timers, man.

When the guy’s friends make their way back up to Jackson’s face, he clears his throat. “Im Jaebum,” he says, sticking out a hand. Jackson shakes it. Points to Jaebum for not treating him like he’s got some kind of communicable disease. “You’ve got some skills. I’ve never seen someone work the pole like that.”

“Jackson Wang,” Jackson replies. He takes a sip from his beer. “You don’t look like you’ve seen a ton of pole dances in general, dude. No offense.”

“I had to fix that,” Jinyoung says, elbowing Jaebum hard enough to make him rock on his heels a little. “Mr. Uptight has had a long couple of months, and I figured I’d bring him to my favourite place to teach him how to loosen up a little.”

Jackson’s eyes slide over to Jaebum, the corner of his mouth pulling up. He knows the type. “And you want me to give you a hand?” he asks, pitching his voice just low enough to watch Jaebum flush again. He looks good with that pink in his cheeks, but Jackson’s pretty sure he’d look good with almost anything. “I think I can do that.”

“Wait,” Jaebum says, and he holds up his hands, eyes getting wide. “What are we talking about here?”

Jinyoung reaches into his pocket, peeling off a few bills and handing them over to Jackson. “Relax,” he says, patting Jaebum’s arm, but it doesn’t really seem to help a whole lot. Jaebum pulls at his tie, his lips tightening. “Just consider this my treat.”

“ _What_ are you treating me to?” Jaebum asks tersely, and Jackson can’t help but laugh.

“Chill, man,” he says, and he holds out his hand, tucking Jinyoung’s cash into his pocket. “There’s nothing shady happening here. Your buddy just bought you a lapdance.” He nods at Jinyoung. “Best lapdance money can buy, honestly, you really lucked out.” He cocks a hip and wiggles his eyebrows.

Jaebum hesitates for a moment more, but then he takes Jackson’s hand. “What are you getting me into?” he grumbles.

Jinyoung claps a hand onto each of Jaebum’s shoulders, grinning as he digs his fingers in. “Trust me,” he says cheerfully, and then he propels Jaebum forward. “Let him take care of you. You’ll have one hell of a night.”

“Should I even ask how he knows that?” Jaebum asks, but he lets Jackson tug him through the club to the private rooms in the back. His hand in Jackson’s is clammy. 

Jackson waves a quick hello at Zitao as he pushes past them to the stage, and then he tucks Jaebum into the first open door. “Listen,” he says, and he gestures at the chair in the middle of the room. Jaebum slides his suit jacket off and folds it over the back before gingerly sitting down. “We don’t have to do the whole dance thing, if you don’t want to.” Jackson plants his hands on his hips and tips his head. “Like I’m happy to pocket Jinyoung’s cash for the night if it makes you all uncomfortable.” He grins. “I know not everyone’s used to this scene.”

“I’ve never done this before,” Jaebum admits, and he ducks his head, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Jackson says, shrugging carelessly. His smile softens. “You don’t even have to do a lot, I promise. Just sit back, keep your hands to yourself, and enjoy.” He laughs a little. “I mean, if you want.”

Jaebum’s eyes travel up from Jackson’s ankles to his face, slowly, and Jackson smirks when he catches how they linger on his thighs and chest. “I think I can handle that,” he says, and he raises one eyebrow, gaze heated enough to make Jackson’s heart speed up a little. First-timer’s learning how to play the game. “I don’t want to waste Jinyoung’s money, right?”

Jackson watches Jaebum lean back in the chair, his legs spreading apart, one hand resting on his thigh. “Right,” he agrees, and he grins.

The track that Jackson puts on is an old favourite, and maybe he’s a bit predictable like that, but he likes how it makes him feel. Like he could seduce anyone. He’s not trying, of course, but if he wanted to, he totally could. He kicks off his shoes and steps forward.

Zitao’s always favoured shiny things, glitter spread across the sharp line of his cheekbones and down the v of his hips, drawing eyes in the right direction, but Jackson likes to do things simple. No embellishments needed with a body like this. Looks like Jaebum agrees. 

Jackson starts out slow, eyes closed, dragging his hands up his chest to hold them in the air, swaying his hips to the beat. There are a lot of things about this job that Jackson likes: the easy money, getting to dance for a living, not having to wear clothes. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t live for that attention, though. When he opens his eyes again, dropping down to his heels and sliding his hands down his thighs to his knees, he can see Jaebum’s eyes fixed on him. Just how he likes them. 

He straightens again, turning around to bend slowly, back bowing as he shakes his ass for Jaebum’s enjoyment. He’s rewarded with a shuddery breath and he grins, standing up straight and spinning back around to catch the stunned look on Jaebum’s face. “See?” he says, sauntering closer and planting his hands on the arms of the chair. “Nothing too difficult here.”

“I thought you said I had to keep my hands to myself?” Jaebum asks, quirking an eyebrow. There’s a flush blooming high on his cheeks, and it only darkens as Jackson steps forward to straddle his legs. He’s flustered, definitely, but when Jackson raises his eyebrows in question, he nods and sits back. 

Jackson doesn’t have to be asked twice to settle into his lap. “I never said anything about what my hands are doing,” he laughs, throwing his arms over Jaebum’s shoulders and grinding down. “Or the rest of me, either.” Jackson’s not too picky who he dances for, as long as their breath is fresh and their touch isn’t. It’s nice, though, having a handsome client like Jaebum. Up close like this, Jackson takes in Jaebum’s soft, parted lips, half-lidded eyes, and yeah, he’s enjoying this one a lot. 

He rolls his hips down, leaning in so close that he can feel Jaebum’s breath on his face. “Is this everything you dreamed of?” he asks, voice pitched just loud enough to hear it over the music. “I mean, for a first lap dance, you’re really getting a winner.” He curls a hand around the back of Jaebum’s neck and pushes his ass down, right into Jaebum’s lap.

“Oh, you think, huh?” Jaebum says, but he’s out of breath, and Jackson can feel the proof of his enjoyment through those expensive suit slacks of his. His hands flutter around Jackson’s waist and they only settle when Jackson grabs his wrist and guides them down. “I don’t know, I might have to do some further research.”

If this wasn’t a dance, if Jackson wasn’t on the clock and listening to the thumping baseline of Zitao’s routine through the thin walls, he’d pull Jaebum’s head back and lick at the line of his neck. “I’ve got your scientific proof right here,” he growls, grinding down hard, and Jaebum gasps despite himself. 

“You’re a handful,” Jaebum tells him, his fingertips digging into the top of Jackson’s ass, and it’s not even that warm back here, but it definitely feels like it right about now. “What did Jinyoung get me into?” 

Jackson leans forward and brushes the tip of his nose against Jaebum’s. “Nothing, yet.” He’s pretty tempted, honestly, to close the distance and kiss Jaebum, right here, right now. It’s straight up against the rules, though, and Jackson likes this job too much to risk it. It’s such a nice idea, though, and it’d be so easy with Jaebum spread out underneath him, half-hard and flushed and so hot. 

Jaebum tips his head back and groans, a grin still pulling at the corners of his lips. “Too much,” he mutters, and he jerks his hips up against Jackson. “You are too much.” When he straightens, his eyes stay fixed on Jackson’s face. That’s not something he gets every day, and especially not from a first-timer. It’s kinda nice. “Jinyoung wasn’t kidding.”

“No, he wasn’t,” Jackson agrees easily. He leans back, using his grip on the chair arms and Jaebum’s hands cradling him, holding him steady. He’s definitely going to make sure that Jaebum gets his money’s worth tonight.

 

 

When they emerge again, Jaebum looks satisfyingly mussed and a little bit dazed, and Jinyoung lets out a shout of laughter, slapping a hand against the table top. “You look like the two of you just went five rounds back there!” he exclaims, and Jaebum blushes, fixing his tie. “How much money did I give you, Wang?”

Jackson hikes his shorts up and shrugs. “Not enough for that kind of happy ending, buddy,” he says dryly, and Jaebum slides into a seat, burying his face in his hands. “I’m a dancer, dude, not an escort.” He grins broadly. “And if I were, you wouldn’t be able to afford this ass, anyway.”

Jinyoung reaches for his drink. “I can’t believe you’re that disheveled after one dance,” he tells Jaebum, delicately sipping from his straw. “That’s so embarrassing.”

“It was a pretty good lap dance,” Jaebum says defensively, and as much as Jackson likes the way that he looks when he blushes, it’s really not fair to let Jinyoung dig into him like that.

“Man, shut up. First dance I gave you, you whined so much I was kind of afraid that you came in your pants.”

Jaebum throws him a grateful look before he rounds on Jinyoung. “Amateur,” he smirks, and now it’s Jinyoung’s turn to protest and flush. 

Jackson glances up from the table to find Mark behind the bar, grimacing and tapping his wrist. Got it. Jackson’s got a certain amount of leeway at this job, but that doesn’t mean he can just spend all his downtime with one customer. Nice of Mark to give him a head’s up before their boss comes down and chews him out. “Alright,” he says reluctantly, taking a step back. “I better get back to circulating.” He claps a hand against Jaebum’s shoulder. “Nice to meet you, man.” It seems like a bit of an understatement when ten minutes ago, he’d been grinding on his dick, but it’s the truth.

And maybe he’s imagining it, but Jaebum looks a little disappointed to see him go. “You too,” he says, nodding a little. He smiles tightly at Jackson and then Jackson heads off to make his rounds.

He ends up at the bar for a minute, and Mark slides a beer into his hands. “You know, it’s kinda funny,” he says, wiping down the bar surface.

Jackson raises an eyebrow. “What is?”

“Coulda sworn I heard that first-timer singing something there.” Jackson frowns at Mark in confusion, and Mark just flashes him his best shit-eating grin. “Some Akon. _’I’m in love with a stripper~_ ”

Jackson lunges across the bar, smacking Mark in the arm. “I’m gonna kill you,” he says. Mark swats him with his towel.

On the stage, Yixing’s performing, and he’s one of the best. But when Jackson sneaks a peek at Jaebum and Jinyoung’s table, Jaebum isn’t watching the stage. He’s looking right back at Jackson. 

Jackson waves a little, raising his drink, and Jaebum waves back. It’s....nice, this feeling growing in Jackson’s chest. It’s nice.


	25. GOT7, Mark/Jinyoung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for ani ♥
> 
> flirty markjin I'M SORRY THERE'S NO PORN i'm an eternal disappointment

The first time Jinyoung holds Mark’s hand it’s a joke. 

They’re all at Jinyoung and Jaebum’s place, celebrating the end of the semester, and Jinyoung is, admittedly, pretty drunk. Drunk enough that he’s got one hand curled into the arm of the couch to keep himself upright and steady, at least.

Mark throws himself down on the couch next to him, his thigh pressed right up against Jinyoung’s, even though there’s at least a couple of feet’s worth of room at the other end. “Are you going to come to the thing at Yerin’s tomorrow?” Jinyoung asks, tapping a finger against Mark’s knee. 

“Yeah, if you’re going,” Mark allows. He tips his head to rest his cheek on Jinyoung’s shoulder and Jinyoung beams, leaning into the warmth of it. 

Across from them, Jackson snorts. “Look at the two of you,” he scoffs. “Man, you might as well be married, the way you guys hang all over each other. Never go anywhere without each other.” It’s a bit hypocritical, because Jackson’s the one on the floor, his chin on Jaebum’s knee and his eyes half-lidded as Jaebum pets a hand through his hair. “It’s ridiculous, dude. Be more boyfriends.”

They’re not actually dating, but that sounds like a challenge to Jinyoung. He reaches for Mark’s hand and laces their fingers together, turning to bat his eyelashes at Mark. “I don’t think that we can,” he says, pushing his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. Mark can’t help himself, he starts laughing, eyes squeezed shut. He doesn’t let go, only laughing harder as Jinyoung raises his hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. It’s the first time he’s kissed him, too. “I’m just _so_ in love.”

Mark has never really been one for words, but he’s game to play along. He scooches even closer, presses his cheek to Jinyoung’s and makes a kissy face. “Dreamy,” Jaebum says dryly, and Jackson groans, covering his eyes with his hands. 

“I can’t believe you’re subjecting me to this,” Jackson grumbles, and when Mark leans back, Jinyoung has to remind himself not to follow. Sometimes, he forgets.

“We’re subjected to your existence every single day,” Mark points out. His hand is still curled easily into Jinyoung’s hand, like he’d forgotten it there, his thumb rubbing idly against Jinyoung’s knuckle. He glances at Jinyoung and he rolls his eyes fondly, and Jinyoung grins back. 

Mark doesn’t let go until he gets up to grab himself another drink, and when he does, Jinyoung loses the thread of the conversation, and it takes him a moment to find his footing.

 

 

The second time, it’s not. 

The club is noisy, crowded on a Friday night, and Jinyoung’s already lost Jackson to the crush on the dancefloor. Which is a bit of a pain, since this had been Jackson’s idea in the first place, but he’s a big boy and he can look after himself. He’s too short to keep track of anyway.

Jinyoung skirts the floor, eyes scanning the crowd, and he’s not even really aware that he’s looking for someone until fingers close around his wrist, pulling him back. “Found you,” Mark says, and his hand slides into Jinyoung’s like it belongs there. “I think I saw Jackson grinding up on that girl from his history class.” He has to lean in close to be heard, and even in the heat of the club, Jinyoung can feel the warmth of Mark’s breath against his ear. “Looks like he’s having a really good night.”

“Wanna join him?” Jinyoung asks, turning his head. 

Mark looks tired after a day of work, but he still musters a smile for Jinyoung. “You mean, do I wanna deal with him grinding his dick all up on me, too? No thanks.” Mark pulls a face. Jinyoung’s heart drops a little and he pulls away, but Mark chases him, grip tight on his hand. “But if you wanna dance, I’m game for that.”

Jinyoung glances down at Mark’s fingers, laced between his, and then up again, and Mark raises his eyebrows in question. “Cool,” Jinyoung says, and he grins. 

On the floor, Mark’s hands settle on Jinyoung’s waist, keeping him close, and when Jackson ditches them all way early to get himself laid, Jinyoung doesn’t even mind that much. 

 

 

He puts off thinking about it for a few days, until the new semester is starting, and he and Mark are wandering out of their first class of the day. The halls are busy with people rushing to their next class, and Jinyoung’s jostled around as he tries to make his way down the cafeteria. They’re supposed to be meeting Jackson and Yugyeom for lunch. 

He gets almost all the way to the stairs before he realizes that he’s lost Mark. He spins around but Mark is already there, arms coming around Jinyoung’s waist. “Dude, it’s like a sea of freshmen in here. I can’t see anything over their tiny heads. I’m gonna get lost.” 

He butts his chin up against Jinyoung’s shoulder, and when Jinyoung twists to look at him, he wiggles his eyebrows a little, but he doesn’t let go. Jinyoung’s got no inclination to shake him off, though. As much as he’s been trying to pretend otherwise, he likes it when Mark’s pressed up against him like this, warmth in his arms and his eyes. It feels pretty nice, makes Jinyoung’s heart speed up just a little.

“Good thing you’ve got me here then, huh?” he says, and then he leads the way through the crowd down to meet up with Yugyeom and Jackson.

“My knight in shining armour,” Mark says dryly, and Jinyoung pulls him forward, swings his arm around Mark’s shoulders. Mark isn’t a lot smaller than Jinyoung is, just enough to kinda fit nicely underneath his arm. That suits him just fine.

Jackson raises an eyebrow when he sees the two of them walk in, side by side, but he doesn’t say anything, which is probably a first. The respite only lasts until Mark gets up to grab his food, and then Jackson is rounding on him, dragging his chair over noisily. “So,” he says, grinning. “You gonna talk about this, or…?”

“Nope,” Jinyoung says immediately. If he were anywhere near ready to address the warmth he feels in his gut when Mark touches him, the _last_ person he’d talk to about it is _Jackson_. It’s not like he expects him to just betray his trust or anything, but Jackson’s always had more enthusiasm than finesse, especially when it comes to feelings. “You’re not exactly an expert on this kind of advice.”

Jackson looks affronted. “I have plenty of dating experience,” he says defensively. Next to him, Yugyeom sucks at his juicebox and watches them both with wide eyes. “Dude, I give great advice. I’m offended.”

“Hmm,” Jinyoung says, and he tips his head. “Why don’t you start with you and Jaebum, then maybe I’ll give listening to you a try.”

Yugyeom chokes on his juice and Jackson sputters, searching uselessly for a reply. Grinning smugly at him, Jinyoung steals a mouthful off Jackson’s plate and pops it in his mouth. Nothing redirects Jackson’s attention like Jaebum does. Perfect dodge.

He only notices that Mark’s returned when he drops his hand onto Jinyoung’s shoulders. “Man, what did you do?” Mark asks, peering at the other side of the table. Jackson is pounding on Yugyeom’s back, face red right to the hairline as he blusters about how terrible a friend Jinyoung is. “I’ve never seen Jackson blush that hard.”

“Trade secret,” Jinyoung says, and he pretends, once again, that he’s not aware of the easy press of Mark’s hands against his shoulders. This can’t last forever, but he’s going to try to hang on to it, at least for a little while longer.

 

 

Jaebum’s birthday party is rowdy as always, and Jinyoung manages to drink until he can barely stand up. Most of the night is a blur, featuring flashes of Youngji howling with laughter at Bambam’s attempts to flirt, Jaebum taking shots off Jackson’s bare chest, and Youngjae making a very ill-advised attempt at a kegstand, cheered on by Jimin and Yerin. 

It’s a pleasant surprise when Jinyoung blinks groggily awake in his own bed, the beginnings of a hangover pushing at the backs of his eyes and that roadkill taste on his tongue, but he’s in his _own bed_. He’s pretty impressed with drunk Jinyoung. He’d even wiggled out of his tight pants too. Good job, drunk Jinyoung.

The thing is, he’s not alone. He shifts and next to him, Mark groans, twisting to press his face into Jinyoung’s pillow and tightening his hand against Jinyoung’s ribs, muttering something unintelligible. It takes Jinyoung a few seconds to process the way that they’d been sleeping. He can see a damp spot on the front of Mark’s shirt, so there’s no way he hadn’t been curled up into him, their legs tangled together, Mark’s arms around him. Jinyoung rubs a hand against his face and exhales hard. He can’t figure out what this is.

Mark makes another noise, and Jinyoung looks over to see him peeking at him through one half-lidded eye, nose wrinkled up. “‘S too early,” he says blearily, tugging at Jinyoung’s shirt. “If you get up, Jackson will get up, ‘nd nobody in the world wants that.”

A glance at the clock tells Jinyoung that it’s well past eleven, but that seems to be mostly semantics at this point. “We’re cuddling,” he points out.

“Yeah,” Mark agrees. He shrugs one shoulder lazily.

Jinyoung hesitates. “I didn’t know we were at cuddling yet,” he says, voice cautious, and Mark straightens, pulling his head up to look Jinyoung in the eye.

“Is this not cool?” he asks. He slides his arm out from underneath Jinyoung and instead props himself up on one elbow. “Didn’t mean to invade your space or anything.”

It’s a good thing that Jinyoung’s too hungover to care, because it’s giving him the courage to speak. “Do you do this with everyone?” he asks, seriously enough that Mark rubs at his eyes and blinks furiously, trying to focus properly. “The, uh, touching stuff.” Maybe it’s too early to be articulate, but Jinyoung doesn’t really care right now. Mark is just so hard to read, and Jinyoung kind of needs to know. “Or is it just a me-thing?” Mark squints at him and Jinyoung recoils, sitting up quickly enough that his head complains about it. “Sorry, never mind. Forget about it. Maybe I’m still drunk.”

“No,” Mark says. His fingers curl around Jinyoung’s wrist, and it strikes Jinyoung again how right it feels, how easy. “No, it’s just a you-thing. If that’s okay.” 

Even disheveled from last night, eyes swollen with sleep, Mark looks so earnest and handsome. Jinyoung’s heart clenches. “I wanted it to be a me-thing,” he admits, and Mark smiles up at him, tugging gently, and Jinyoung decides that sitting up is definitely overrated. Hesitantly, he folds himself back up against Mark, and he yawns. “It’s mostly always been a you-thing about you, too.”

“Sweet,” Mark says, turning to press his face against the top of Jinyoung’s head. “I can live with that.”

“Are you even using words?” Jackson asks from the doorway, voice way too loud for how much they’d been drinking last night. “Listen, I’m really happy for the two of you, but I think getting laid is ruining your brains.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Jinyoung says pleasantly, and then he gets a better idea. “Jaebum!” he shouts, and Mark groans, covering his ear with his hand. “Jackson’s got something to tell you.”

“Dude!” Jackson says, looking betrayed to the core. “Not cool!” 

Out in the apartment, Jinyoung can hear Jaebum calling in reply, faint and irritated. He waves a goodbye at Jackson. “Close the door behind you, too,” he says. When Jackson disappears, off to do some damage control, Jinyoung settles in again, listening to the thump of Mark’s heart. “I don’t know if he deserved that,” Jinyoung says.

“Sure he did,” Mark says. “He always deserves it for something.” He pulls Jinyoung closer, laughing sleepily, and Jinyoung lets his eyes slide shut. They’ve got time for a nap. They’ve got a whole lot of time, now.


End file.
